Of the Sea
by Cicatrix
Summary: Matthew Brown and Miriam Sharp appear to have little in common. However, Captain Jack Sparrow learns when he rescues the young man found adrift on the ocean that appearances are deceiving, and deceit comes in many forms. (Chapter 30, Jan 9)
1. 0: Prologue

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 0. Prologue  
Summary: Read and find out, it's short enough.  
Timeline: Day one  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

**

Foreword

**

I thought about having a foreword, and then decided against it. So why is this here? I then decided against deciding against it. Actually, I want to include a small warning about the story, and I figured the best way to go around that was to insert a bit of a foreword. So on to the warning.

This story is rated PG-13. I don't want to rate it R, because I'm only sixteen, and I figure if I'm mature enough to write it, you should be able to read it. I think it's an appropriate rating, but I do want to mention that this story does deal with the concept of rape. There is nothing really graphic, but if you are disturbed by the concept of rape, and don't want to read a story which is, in part, about the recovery of one of its victims, then this tale is not for you.

Otherwise, please do enjoy this story, and please feel free to review. In fact, I'd very much appreciate it.

Thank you,

Cicatrix.

* * *

**A note on dialect: **

My attempts at dialect suck. Especially with Jack. However, I just wanted to give you a very short guide on pronunciation/meaings:

_Ye: _This is the most confusing one, so I'll try and explain. When and if _Jack_ and _Matthew_ say " ye " it's pronounced " yeh " or " ya ", since neither of them say " yee " in the movie. However, I tried to phase out any places where they say " ye " and shorten to " y' " which is how it's pronounced when they say it. However, if anyone else says it, like Anamaria or Gibbs or whoever, it's pronounced the usual way, which is " yee ". It means _you_.

_T'whatever_To do something. T'run would be "to run". It's pronounced pretty much as it's spelled.

_I'm-not-avoiding-you_: When words are linked by dashes in text, it usually means the character is speaking quickly. It would be the equivalent of, for example, "I'mnotavoidingyou," except you can see the words better because they're separated, and hopefully you don't get confused and think it says "I'mno tav oidi ngy ou."

_Cap'n_: Come on, that one is self explanatory.

_D'liv'd_I usually indicate skipped letters with a '. So D'liv'd, is "delivered", but Quartetto didn't pronounce most of the vowels, or the r. So instead of "delivered", it's become "de-lived."

_Me: _Can mean "me" or "my". "Stop messing with me" or "That's me boat!"

* * *

**

Prologue

**

"'Ey, boy! What's your name?" The captain, who had just turned his back, pivoted once more. His hand rested on his hip, the slight curve of a smile on his lips. His posture was careless, his features rugged. Dark hair was somewhere between black and brown, overlapped by a strip of red cloth, and decorated by strings of beads, dreadlocks and braids. One lock was separated from the rest, a long sliver of bone tied to it, and it hung over his bandana, as did a thick braid at the back of his head. His beard grew along his jaw-line, though at the chin it was tipped by two slender braids, each bearing two small beads at its end. He wore a cutlass at his side, and a pistol was tucked in the striped sash around his waist. His clothes were dusty, and well worn, his gold-toothed smile mischievous. For a moment, there was silence, as the other considered his question.

"Matthew Brown," he responded, before his hesitation became glaringly obvious. Matthew. He noted the name in his mind, simultaneously thinking that he may have hit his head.

"Matthew? Good name. Well, you'd do best to make yourself useful," the captain said helpfully. Matthew had rather figured that. After a moment's pause, he elaborated, "Ask Gibbs what needs doing. If I'm needed, I'll be in my cabin." With that, he gave a mocking half-bow, and strode purposelessly past them. A very strange man, but Matthew considered himself lucky. He could have been thrown back to the sea.

* * *

**Author's note:**This is just the prologue. There is much, much more to come.

Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to note that this is my first Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic. I'm extremely nervous. grin First, I'll mention that any characters, ships, etc. you recognise from Pirates of the Caribbean do not belong to me. Characters you don't recognise are most likely my own invention, unless you've never seen the movie, in which case you may have a difficult time distinguishing... in which case, go see the movie. Now.


	2. 1: Another Ship

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 1. Another Ship  
Summary: Thoughts of Jack and Matt.  
Timeline: Tuesday, May 3, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

Captain Jack Sparrow considered the encounter. There had been a slight pause... a hesitation, when he'd asked the boy for his name. He was sure of that. But what did it mean? Was the kid lying, or had he simply knocked his head? Wasn't unheard of, but it still made him nervous. Later, he'd have Gibbs bring the boy down, and they'd sit down and talk, though perhaps not about the name.

He'd looked about twenty-five, maybe give or take a year, with dark hair and pale, stormy eyes. His build was slight, but he'd stood with a straight back, a defiant tilt to his chin, even moments after being fished from certain death at sea. His face was made tan by the sun, but it was clean-shaven. Jack remembered the way calloused hands had irritably tugged at a stray raven tress, as if there had once been more there. He wondered at the cause of the mottled bruise on the boy's cheek, the cut on his lip.

_More cautious men would probably be more cautious, _Jack thought with a self-deprecating smile, but instead the captain was intrigued. Why had the boy been left to die a merciless death, adrift on the ocean's breast? But the sea had been to the him a kind mistress, and she had led him to the Pearl. He took a swig of his rum, swallowed it thoughtfully. He would have to talk more with this Matthew before he could decide anything about his character. There was a knock at the door.

"It's unlocked," Jack said absently, looking up as the door opened. Gibbs stood in the doorway, a triumphant smile on his face. The captain arched a brow at the quartermaster, waiting to be told what the good news was.

"Cap'n!" the older man exclaimed, "I think we've found the spare set of hands y've been lookin' for!" A slow smile spread across his captain's face.

"Send him in here, would you? I'll have to talk to him 'bout it." Gibbs nodded quickly, and ran out.

* * *

Miriam breathed a sigh of frustration, giving the knot a final tug. Standing, she eyed her handy-work; it would hold. Experimentally, she prodded the livid bruise on her right cheek, and winced. Yes, it still hurt. But for her life, she could not remember how she'd earned it, nor any of the other contusions and incisions which marred her skin. She considered the past few hours of her life. She had resigned herself to death, alone at sea, but she had been rescued. She had no recollection of the hours before that, no indication as to what had placed her in that position, drifting endlessly, only barely conscious.

She grappled with her mind, and a name there appeared. _Anthony_. She considered it, and decided that had been the name she had used before. _Another ship, _she reflected,_ another name_. Yes, it made sense. It occurred to her, suddenly, that she had been discovered. More ideas fell into place, and she began to understand the circumstances which may have led to her situation, but beyond that, she remembered little. She did not know if she had abandoned ship by choice, or if she had been forcefully cast overboard. A woman's scream echoed in her ears, and she pushed it aside. Perhaps it was best to _not_ remember.

In any case, it was not terribly important. Matthew was a name as good as any other. She'd been found by another ship, and if she could prove her value, she might have another chance. Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her, which she recognised immediately as belonging to the man she'd been introduced to as Gibbs.

"Boy, the Captain's wantin' to talk with you," he informed her. Miriam, now Matthew, nodded, and at his indication, she followed him to the captain's quarters.

* * *

**Author's note: **First chapter is complete! Again, characters that are from PotC aren't mine, original characters (namely, up to this point, Matt/Miriam) are. So there y'go. Please read and review. There'll be more soon... well, as soon as I write it, that is.


	3. 2: Interviews

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 2. Interviews  
Summary: Conversations between Jack and Matt.  
Timeline: Tuesday, May 3, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

He leaned back in his chair, his boots on the table, and a bottle of rum in his hand. He was humming, though the figure standing in the doorframe could only understand mumbled phrases about bad eggs and drinking. As Gibbs shut the door, Jack indolently removed his feet from the table, waving a hand in the general direction of the seat across from his.

"Matthew, isn't it?" Jack asked, pouring two glasses of rum.

"Aye, sir. Thanks," he said, greedily taking a glass and downing its contents swiftly. Sparrow arched a brow curiously, almost expecting a mumbled apology. Receiving none, he simply poured another drink, then set the bottle down on the table.

Upon closer inspection, the boy's age was hard to gage; twenty-five seemed a near the mark. His face was worn and tired, but held no trace of a beard. Tough calluses upon his hands and the tanned hue of his skin spoke of long times spent at sea, as did the pervasive odor of salt that clung to him. His pale eyes were an ocean grey, and raven-dark tresses were shorn close to his skull.

His clothes were more like rags, caked with dirt and who knows what else. Some of the stains, red-brown in hue, seemed likely to be blood. The sleeves of his shirt, which may once have been white, were in tatters, revealing bruises and cuts on his arms and wrists, which Matthew seemed to pointedly ignore.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," the elder said, though he'd introduced himself earlier. Matthew only nodded, so the Captain went on. "If y'don't mind me asking, how'd y'end up floating around like that by yerself?"

Jack had half-expected something about a storm, or pirates, or an unfortunate accident. Instead, he received a shrug. "I don't know. I think I hit my head on something at some point or other, because I don't remember. I was on a ship, and then I wasn't."

Jack nodded. "Which ship?" he queried.

"_Cain_."

"Haven't heard of 'er."

"Nice ship, nothin' really special though." Matthew shrugged again, something he seemed to do often. What he really meant was that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Merchant vessel?" Jack asked, though he suspected the answer.

"No. We were pirates."

Sparrow smiled.

At that moment, one of the crew came in, bearing a platter with a simple meal on it, consisting of a loaf of bread, cheese, a few apples, and some water. There were also two plates alongside the food, as well as a pair of knives. Setting the tray on the table between the pair, he nodded to his captain before leaving, closing the door behind him. Both Matthew and Jack looked at the fare for a long moment, before Jack finally set about cutting off a few slices of the bread, and shoving them on a plate towards his companion.

"Dig in," Jack said, motioning languidly towards the plate. "You wanting to look for your old crew?"

A slight smile crossed the other's lips, and he shook his head. "I don't remember what happened," he mumbled, between bites of bread and cheese, "but I figure Fate probably had a reason for kicking me off the _Cain_, just as She probably had a reason for having me found by you... so I won't argue with Her." The Captain considered his words, nodded silent approval to himself.

"Gibbs seems t'think you're worth your salt. Are you?"

Matthew smiled, "You're the captain, sir. I'd have to say that's up to you."

"Yer on then. Prove your worth by the time we get to Tortuga in two weeks time, and you'll be an official part of me crew." He stuck his hand out across the table, and Matthew grasped it. "Good to have you aboard, Matt."

* * *

Matthew smiled to himself. The night was getting old by now, and the horizon was invisible, the sea and the sky blurred by the inky darkness. The ocean waters were a mirror to the full moon and stars which were suspended in that black void, and Matthew stood, staring out into the shadows. 

His meeting with the captain had gone well. He'd never imagined that he'd end up on Jack Sparrow's crew. Sure, he'd heard stories aplenty of the man, but none of them seemed to fit the perpetually drunk, sun-struck man he'd met. One never could trust the tales heard on the open sea and in the bars and brothels of Tortuga; they were usually more fantasy than fact. But Captain Sparrow seemed to hold a certain intelligence in those dark, kohl-lined eyes, and his crooked grin always seemed to indicate that he knew something others didn't. Jack was handsome, he thought, but still... He shook his head. This was no time for girlish musings. He'd been told he had two weeks to prove his worth, any swag he earned in the meantime was his, and when they arrived in Tortuga, Jack would decide whether or not he could stay. It was a sweet deal.

He crossed his arms across his chest, feeling the new linen of his shirt's sleeve. He'd received new clothes, and a cutlass that now hung reassuringly on his hip. He'd even succeeded in acquiring some new cloth to bind his chest, to preserve the boyish figure which was necessary for his peace of mind. The captain had requested a bath for him, and he'd scrubbed at the cuts and bruises which salt water had already cleansed. He enjoyed the feeling of cleanliness, though he knew it would be short lived. _Fortunately,_ he thought, _the full stomach should last a good two weeks, longer if I can prove I'm useful._

"Mr. Brown," a voice hailed him, interrupting his reverie, "shouldn't you be sleeping? First day tomorrow and all that?" Matthew turned, offered a slight smile to the Captain.

"I think I'll be fine. Too fine a night to pass up spending a small while on deck." Jack grinned, stepping forward to stand at the railing near Matt's side. He nodded in agreement, looking out to sea with an unreadable smile.

"We're headed to Tortuga. You know anyone there?" he asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the young man at his side, who shook his head.

"My mum died a few years back, and my father stopped comin' home. I assume 'e died, too. My old crew might be there, but..." and he trailed off.

"Y'd rather not see 'em, I understand. They the ones that beat the crap out of you?"

Matt shrugged, "Don't remember. Wouldn't put it past them, though." The pair stood in silence, watching the waves. Jack furrowed his brows.

"Can't imagine what that's like."

"What?"

"Not remembering what happened to you. Wakin' up in the middle of the ocean, bein' sure yer gonna die, and having no clue how y'got there." He smiled, "I mean, o'course I've been drunk and forgot stuff, like a wench's name, but never anything like what's happened to you."

Matthew shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Jack?" he enquired after a moment's silence, then hastily corrected himself, "Er, Cap'n."

"Jack's fine. There's nobody else out here," he said.

The younger man smiled, "I just wanted to thank you, for the clothes and cutlass and all that... and most obviously, for fishing me out. Y'could have easily just left me out there t'die."

"No problem," he said, "y'can make it up to me by making yourself useful, and we'll call it even, a'ight?" Matthew nodded. "Now, I'm gonna go t'me bed, and I suggest you do the same." He turned, and walked away. Matt smiled to himself as he watched the other leave.

* * *

**Author's note: **Chapter two. Joy. As per usual, Matt is mine, anything you recognise from Pirates of the Caribbean isn't (i.e.: Jack, Gibbs, the _Pearl_, etc.). Just a reminder/clarification, in case you forgot/were confused, Matthew is really a _girl_. I use 'he' to describe _her_ because that's how everyone else sees her, as a boy. Enjoy. You'll find out more about her/him later. Promise.

**Review Responses:**

_heather 321: _I'm glad you understand now. grin You're right, the flashback was repetitive, so I just fixed it. Joy! I should be doing my homework, but this is just so much more fun!

_Sirius Black Here: _Thanks. I'll try.

_Anne Carmichael: _Suspense? What suspense? Thank you! Wow, I feel loved! I have loyal readers/reviewers.

_Lady Laffs-a-lot: _That may be true, but please do try to keep your reviews pertaining to my story. Reviews are supposed to help me make sure I'm on the right track, or tell me what I can improve. Yours does neither.

_Reese Sparrow: _Yer too kind, sir, truly. And I'll try. I just finished sketching this weird diagram o' the _Pearl_, since tha's where most o'the story takes place. I just figgered out where everythin' is, so I'll start writing straight away. Ta. :)

_Shimmergloom: _You echo my thoughts exactly when I read the **extremely** creepy romances between Jack and time-traveling high school girls. However, just a small note, you'll note that the only reference to her age is from the point of view of others _guessing_ how old she/he is, judging by his lack of any facial hair and the fact that his voice isn't very deep. Her real age will be revealed later, but she is actually older than she looks. I might modify the previous chapters later to make him appear older, and have her be a few years older still. But as I said, I don't know if I'm going to do a romance or not. I probably won't decide until I've written eleven chapters, at least (I have the summaries/plans for the first eleven chapters already written). For now, I want to keep all my options open, and focus on those first eleven chapters.


	4. 3: Tortuga?

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 3. Tortuga?  
Summary: The _Black Pearl_ raids a merchant ship, and finds something they weren't expecting.  
Timeline: Wednesday, May 4, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

Jack rose before the sun did. For having slept very little, he felt well-rested. He rubbed his eyes blearily, pushing the coverlet aside. Decisively, he got to his feet, reassured by the gentle creak of the ship's floorboards beneath his feet. He smiled to himself, absorbed the familiar surroundings of his cabin, standing a moment in reverence for the _Pearl_. It was good to have her back, he thought, lurching contentedly from the room.

The quarter deck was silent, save for the pair on morning watch who stood near the rail, talking in quiet voices. They greeted him when they saw him, and he smiled vaguely. Climbing the stairs to the bridge, he noticed Anamaria at the helm.

"Captain Sparrow," she said, by way of acknowledgement.

"You been here all night, haven't you?"

"Aye, cap'n."

"You go down, get some food and rest, I'll take over." She nodded, and turning, went down to the mess. Truthfully, Jack had volunteered for more selfish reasons than those he claimed. He'd had the _Pearl_ back for a year now, but he never tired of having her wheel under his hand, of the gentle sway he felt as she turned. He stared at the horizon, which was now a crisp rose at its eastern edge, and smiled. He was only vaguely aware of Gibbs trampling up the stairs.

"Cap'n?"

"Aye?"

"Isn't Tortuga the other way?"

"Aye."

Gibbs was silent. Jack, rightly, took the man's silence for confusion.

"Mr. Gibbs, please tell me what is on the horizon directly in front of us."

Gibbs squinted. "A black dot. But sir, there's no land for miles in that direction."

"And if there's no land for miles in that direction, then it isn't land, is it?" The other man nodded slowly. "Now then, Mr. Gibbs, when you see a black dot on the horizon, and you know it isn't land, what might you infer of its nature?"

"...That it's a ship."

"Good! Then you understand that we are headed towards a ship." Jack pointed at it. "That ship."

"Oh," Gibbs said brightly, still confused. "What do you want with a--Oh!" Jack smiled innocently as the other realized his intentions. "Plunder!"

"Aye, plunder. Now go down to the mess, wake Matthew up, and have him come see me."

"But sir, it's bad luck to wake a man when he's sleeping!"

"...Gibbs."

"Aye, Cap'n."

* * *

"Gibbs said you wanted me, Captain." Matthew looked tired. His clothes were crumpled from sleeping in them, and the grey of his eyes was clouded and foggy. He blinked at Jack.

"Aye. You raided a ship before?" Matt seemed to wake up at those words, and looked at the other man as if he had just been insulted. Seeing his expression, Jack smiled. "Well!" he said joyously, "That answers that question!" Matthew glared, and Jack's smile flickered nervously. He looked away from the younger man, gazing distractedly at a pink-hued cloud. "Say! That one looks rather like a sheep, don't you think?" The cloud he pointed at looked nothing like a sheep, but was instead was rather thin and wispy, like stretched cotton.

"...Jack," Matthew said. Hearing his name, Jack looked around himself, not trying to find the source, but rather to see if anyone _else_ had heard it.

"Ah. No one else here. Jack it is, then." Matthew looked at him expectantly, and when Jack said nothing more, he sighed heavily. "Oh--er, yes?"

"You said something about raiding a ship...?" the other pressed.

"Oh, that. Right," he said, as if this was not even half as interesting as the cloud that didn't look like a sheep. He fished around in the pocket of his vest, retrieving from it a small telescope. He pressed the object into Matthew's hand. "See that black spot on the horizon? I think it's a ship. Take a closer look at it with that, and tell me if you can tell what kind it is."

Matthew examined it for a long moment. "It's hard to tell from this distance," he said, "but it looks like it may be a small merchant vessel. When we get closer, I'll be able to tell you more about how well armed she is. She's headed in our direction, and if she doesn't change course, we'll meet her in two hours, at most."

Captain Jack Sparrow grinned. "Go tell Gibbs to rouse the crew... and raise the Union Jack while you're at it."

* * *

An hour later, young sailor aboard a small merchant ship, the _Lady Anne,_ approached his captain, who was sitting in his cabin with his morning brandy. "Sir! There's a ship coming towards us." 

"... What kind of a ship?"

"A big black one, sir. British flag."

The captain swallowed hard. He'd only heard of one "big black ship" in these waters: the _Black Pearl_. She was the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Some said her captain was a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out, an immortal who mixed the blood of his victims with his rum, who could not be killed by pistol, noose, or sword. The Union Jack it wore did not comfort him; it could be too easily replaced with the Jolly Roger.

"Have someone stand by to strike the colours," he said, after only a second's hesitation.

"What?"

"Are you questioning my orders, sailor?"

"No, sir. I'll do it right away, sir."

* * *

Forty-five anxious minutes later, the two ships met. The Union Jack the _Black Pearl_ wore was taken down, and in its place the Jolly Roger was hoisted, and the flags of the _Lady Anne_ were struck. Jack stood on the quarterdeck, occasionally casting a watchful eye toward his own ship. The _Lady Anne_'s crew stood not far from him, around the main mast, under the guard of Gibbs and Cotton. 

"What've we got so far, Quartetto?" Jack asked, approaching the man who appeared from below deck.

"N'thin' much, Cap'n. D'liv'ed an'thin' valable.. Food, rum, sails, an' an anchor, the like. N'thin' more."

Jack sighed. It would be his luck that the small, unarmed merchant vessel had already delivered its cargo, and therefore had little of value remaining. "I see," he said. "Take it all, and their weapons too. Search their pockets and see if they have any coins." Quartetto returned below decks, presumably to relay the orders.

Moments passed, and Jack was surprised to see Matt climbing the stairs, with a rather large, hysterical entity in tow behind him. The young man wore a look of extreme distaste, and gave the woman's arm a sharp jerk. She collapsed to her knees, and started screaming.

"Please don't kill me!" she cried pathetically, spewing tears.

Matthew spun on her. "Bleeding hell, woman! I don't want to drag a dead weight up these 'ere stairs," he said, and his hand fell to the cutlass at his side, "but it's better than dragging a kicking, screaming weight--if y'catch my meaning." His words were not lost on the woman, who stood quickly; she didn't know the cutlass was probably too dull to cut butter. She sniffed rather pathetically. Matt pointed to where the sailors stood, "Thank y'kindly, missy. Now if you'll be a good girl, and go stand over there with them sailors." He gave a slight bow as she walked passed him. Jack smiled his approval.

"Cap'n Sparrow!" a voice distracted him. It was Quartetto again. "Sir, we found somethin' in the crate what said it 'ad rum! Sol'd gold!" At those last words, everyone turned and stared at the man who emitted them, all except one. The previously frenetic woman lunged from her place near Mr. Gibbs. She seized the sword from Matt's sheath, and pressed it against his throat. Everyone turned again, their eyes flickering between Quartetto and Matthew, as if unsure which was more important.

"Excuse me, Miss--" Jack hesitated, waiting for a name.

"Annabel Reed," she stated in a way entirely too prim and proper for a woman holding a blade to another's neck.

"--Miss Reed," he continued seemlessly, "but if you haven't noticed, this man just mentioned gold, which is far more important than your wounded pride..."

"Pirate!" she said, viciously.

"Yes, dear, thank you for noticing."

"Release us, or I'll cut his throat!"

Matthew chose this moment to interrupt, "Miss Reed, if you don't mind me saying so, the blade you're threatening me with, though very imposing, is quite useless. You're more likely to hurt yourself than me with it, the edge is almost entirely dull. You'd do more damage if you tried to hit me with it."

Miss Annabel Reed tried to hit Matthew with the sword, but when she pulled it back, he reached out and grabbed the blade of the cutlass, pulling it out of her grasp. It clattered to the ground as she dropped it. Bending, the young man retrieved it. He replaced it in his belt, then looked curiously at his hand; blood seeped from a narrow red slice in his palm. "Not as dull as I'd thought," he murmured, reached for the girl's wrist with his other hand, wiping the blood off the injured one onto his breeches. "Now, no more of that, missy," he said, and looked curiously at Jack and Quartetto.

The crisis over, Jack looked around curiously. "Wait," he said, "what were we talking about?"

"Gold?" prompted Matthew.

"Oh, right!" Jack paused, "How much gold?"

"S'ngle brick, Cap'n," Quartetto informed him.

A slow, gold-toothed smile spread across Jack's face.

* * *

**Author's note: **I bet they're happy. Not every day you find a solid gold bar in a case of rum. I know that may sound like a let down, because it only weights five pounds, but it's worth 1,500 British pounds, or $240,000 in the modern United States. Not a bad haul, really. But why was a smallish merchant ship that wasn't armed carrying a gold brick in a box labeled "rum"? You'll see! In the meantime, think about how many more gold teeth Jack could get put in!

By the way, I went back and fixed Matt's age. If you've been reading, he's twenty-five-ish now. I originally wrote him as twenty-five, then changed him to twenty, then sixteen, and now he's back to twenty-five. I promise he won't suddenly get older or younger anymore. It may start taking longer for me to update, too. I've been on break, but I have to go back to school tomorrow. In fact, I still have two 1,500 word essays for English class to write tonight, one about _Perfume _and _Sleep Unbound_, the other about _Emma_. Eek!


	5. 4: Reflections

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 4. Reflections  
Summary: A party, followed by a dream, followed by a hangover, followed by a conversation, a deal, and some rum.  
Timeline: Wednesday, May 4, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

A roaring party was held in the mess that night, like many others following a successful and profitable raid. Pints upon pints of grog and ale lifted from the _Lady Anne _were passed around, and the crew laughed and talked. They sang in off-tune voices, reminisced and told tall tales (each more unbelievable and outlandish than the next, though most everyone was too drunk to notice).

The air around the many tables was light, everyone grinning over their respective drinks. Raucous laughter poured from a nearby table, while Matthew listened with half an ear to Mr. Gibbs, who was recounting one of Jack Sparrow's fabulous adventures, this one about how Jack had done the unthinkable and sacrificed that most holy of drinks, rum, to get himself off the island on which he'd been marooned for the second time. Next to him, Anamaria rolled her eyes.

"Another pint?" Jack waved a mug under Matthew's nose. With a grin, he drained his half-empty glass and traded it for the full one that was offered. Jack, who seemed more drunk than usual, stumbled to the cask to refill it. He staggered back, sunk onto the bench next to the younger man. "You should see the scars!" When no one expressed the desire to see them, he shrugged helplessly, then paused a while. "To freedom!" he toasted.

"Aye," Matt added, tapping his pewter mug to the other, "and t'the boundless g'n'ros'ty of _Lady Anne_!' Everyone else laughed and raised their glasses in agreement, then drank deeply of their draught.

"You know," Jack said in a conspiring whisper, "for a lightweight, you handle your drink well."

Matthew grinned. "Thanks mate," he drawled, leaning back against the table and stretching his legs out in front of him, "pr'ctish, y'know."

* * *

The whole affair would end several hours later, with most of the men laid out on tables or passed out on the floor.

Somewhere, a woman's scream tore through the night's shadow. Matthew tried to jerk himself awake, but his body would not react. Voices were jeering, taunting. They filled his ears with their abominable insults.

"Here's a pretty little thing, boys! Turns out _Anthony_ has some benefits we have yet to take advantage of."

"What's a little lass like you doing out here in the middle of the ocean pretending to be something she's not?"

"Bad luck to have a woman on board, isn't it?"

"Aye, but a naked one'll calm the sea, she will."

"If you touch me, I swear I'll kill you."

"That's not very nice! Miss Sharp here hurt my feelings!"

_Miss Sharp? How did they know?_

It was cold, the chill enough to freeze flesh down to the bone. The voices were replaced by screams, by hands that groped and tore and bruised, points of knives that traced thin, deep lines in soft tissue. Between her legs, something burned and ripped and _hurt_. She felt split through the center of her being, as if her guts were shredded and unraveled. There was so much blood, she felt it but couldn't see it, couldn't stop its flow.

Something held her down, bound her wrists and her ankles. It was impossible to breathe, hands at her throat and... She struggled in vain, tried to kick or punch or scream, but she could not move, no sound would escape her lips. She was engulfed.

_Water_. It filled her nose and her mouth, and she gasped for air, in vain. She flailed, tried to find the surface, but she sunk deeper beneath the waves, something dragging her down. Her lungs were on fire, they ached for oxygen, screamed for it. She was drowning, and she knew she would die.

* * *

Matthew woke in a cold sweat. He could feel his heart racing within his chest, and all the bruises and cuts on his body seemed to throb with a pulsing, dull pain. Even his lungs felt damaged. A splitting pain pounded in his ears. _That was the alcohol. _He pushed himself up with his elbows and sat up slowly. He was sitting on the top of the table, and the bodies were piled around him, many snoring. Jack was in a chair in the corner, his hat tipped over his eyes. Matt stood, stepped carefully to avoid disturbing the sleeping.

The night air was soothing and warm, and the moon was bright in the sky, though it was waning now. The dark waters were calm. Matthew took several deep breaths. _It was only a dream._ He rubbed the bruise that darkened his throat, and then stared at his wrists. _Realistic dream_, he corrected himself, _very realistic dream_. _Still a dream though. Wasn't it?_ He decided it was. He sighed, reaching behind his back, tugging at the cloth under his shirt. _Blasted things,_ he thought, not sure if he was thinking of the bandages which kept his figure in check, or the more feminine attributes that made said bandages necessary. He couldn't find the knot; he let his hands fall to his side.

"Curse this body," she murmured to herself, imagining her small breasts. She was of average height, measuring slightly closer to six feet than five, and was small-framed. She was not particularly curvaceous, having an undersized bust and little to no hips. It essence, her figure perfectly suited her purposes. Despite her thinness, she was by no means fragile, though her bruised flesh lent that appearance; there was no part of her body that did not bear those black and purple abrasions; they covered her slim hips, her breasts, ribs, shoulders, neck, arms, wrists... She wished she could believe herself, the constant mantra she repeated: _it was a dream._ She shook her head. _I don't remember what happened. It's human nature to assume the worse. Doesn't mean it's real. _For long minutes, she stood in silence, staring into the ocean.

"Matt, you alright?" He flinched visibly when he felt the hand touch his shoulder. He crossed his arms across his chest, turned his head and looked at Jack, who stood behind him. The man's face was half in shadow, and his dark eyes held a look that looked _almost_ like concern. _Almost_.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Wanted a breath of air. Bit of a headache, too. What're you doing out here?"

"I woke up about a minute ago. I was on my way to my cabin, saw you out here."

"Ah."

"You going to sleep?"

"Nobody's doing the night watch. I might as well."

"Ah."

"You?"

Jack smiled vaguely. "I might join you."

"You don't have to, Captain."

"I want to. And Jack's fine."

Matthew turned away from the sea, looked at Jack. He smiled, sat on the ground. Jack sat down next to him. The older man pushed his hair behind one shoulder, the many beads clinking gently against each other. For what seemed an hour, they sat and stared out across the deck.

"You said you had a headache," Jack said at last.

"Yeah."

"Drink this, it'll help." A bottle of rum was thrust in Matt's direction. He accepted it, guzzled some of its contents down, and passed it back to Jack, who took a swig in turn. Matthew smiled.

"It does. Is it true that you burned the entire cache on that island in a signal fire?"

Jack grinned enigmatically. "If I tell you, you have to tell me something about yourself, too. Fair trade." When the other nodded, he took it for an accord. "Alright, it's not _exactly _true. I got stranded with this girl, Elizabeth, and she and I got really drunk--" he paused, "Okay, I drank myself into a stupor and she _pretended_ to be really drunk, and I passed out. She then snuck off and burned all the rum, and the food, and the shade, so the navy showed up to rescue us... well, her. They picked me up because they wanted to hang me, which I dare say wasn't very kind of them. But she burned the rum!"

"Stupid wench," Matthew interrupted.

"No kidding," the other said. "She's wrong though."

"Wrong? I thought you got rescued?"

"Yeah, but she also said rum was a 'vile drink', and that's _obviously _not true." They both laughed. "Your turn."

"Alright, alright. What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"You'll owe me."

"Agreed."

* * *

**Author's note: **Chapter four, at last. Actually, it hasn't been that long since I uploaded chapter three. It's really cold in here right now, I don't know why. I'm shivering. _Brr!_ I don't know what to say about this chapter. If it looks like there's a word missing, _please_ let me know. I typed it up on the school computers, which have the tendency to censor stupid words, so it may have deleted a word or twelve. I couldn't find any missing, but I really just skimmed it.

**Review responses: **

_heather321:_ Lots, I hope. I have a rough outline written for the first fourteen chapters, so there'll be at least that many, and probably more.

_DaydreamBeliever14: _Thank you. Chapter five should start appearing soon. I hope. I uploaded it last night.


	6. 5: Mostly True

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 5: Mostly True  
Summary: Matthew's rough biography.  
Timeline: Wednesday, May 4, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

"I was born twenty-eight years ago--"

"I thought you were younger."

"--in London. I get that a lot. My parents were neither particularly rich nor particularly poor, though we were perhaps more towards the former than the latter. My father a merchant sailor... Stop smirking Jack, I know what you're thinking. I'll get to that eventually. My father was never home much, but my parents seemed happy enough. Their only real dispute was about my education; my mother wanted me to learn business, and my father wanted me to learn about sailing. I went to some of the nicer schools in London, learning math and writing, literature... but I dreamed of the sea. When my father would come home, even if it were just for a day, he taught me about those things which he explained were _most important in life_; the ocean, ships, sailing, swordplay... pirates."

"Did he mention me?"

"No, he didn't mention you. I used to always ask him, in a disappointed tone, why he was just a normal sailor and not a pirate. I wanted him to go on grand adventures and bring me back stolen treasures, to be the greatest pirate on the entire ocean. I would talk for hours about the voyages he would make, and about how he would take me with him. He would just smile at me, and laugh. I was very naïve."

"No kidding."

"It's my story, stop interrupting."

"Alright, alright." Jack raised his hands apologetically, still holding the bottle of rum. Matthew took it from him, helped himself to a liberal amount.

"When I was fourteen, my mother was pregnant again. She died in childbirth. My father came, and I assumed he would stay, get a new job where he would stay in London. Instead, he came with a trunk and told me to gather what things I most wanted to keep. The next morning I was ready, with the clothes on my back and a trunk-full of my mother's belongings. We left that day for the Caribbean.

"Two months and three weeks later we arrived in Tortuga. As we stood on the docks, my father turned to me and asked if I still liked pirates. I announced that I wanted to be one. He gave me another of those smiles and said, 'Good. We're in the right place, then.' He'd bought a small house in one of the better quarters of town, and we sat down on yet unfurnished floor. He looked at me a moment and asked me to remember the days when I'd wanted him to be a pirate, and when I told him I did, he said that he'd been dishonest with me then, when he'd claimed to be a merchant sailor. I learned then the reason for the enigmatic smiles he'd graced me with for years: my father _was _a pirate. I was thrilled, at first.

"For the next two years, my father would at turns sail off and return. He was back more often though, because Tortuga was often en-route to wherever he was going. I realized then that piracy was not as grand as I had thought; he would often come home drunk out of his skull, cursing and shouting in the middle of the night, a prostitute or two hanging on his arm. I was happy when I knew he would be coming home, and after he'd been home for a little while, and had sobered up, but those first few hours were always the most difficult.

"From the time when the effects of the alcohol wore off, usually the afternoon after he came home, until the time he left again, he was a great father. We still sailed together, and swam in the ocean waters. During his absences, I wandered the island. I worked odd jobs simply to keep myself occupied, and sailed in a dinghy I saved my shillings to buy. I didn't see a lot of the money my father made as a pirate. When I asked him, he explained that he put most of it away, because he wanted me to have something to fall back on if he didn't come back.

"He stopped coming home when I was sixteen. I waited for a month after his expected return, until I received news that his ship had been sunk off the coast of Jamaica. There were no known survivors. I was bitter after his death. We'd parted for the last time on bad terms. I'd finally realized that the child my mother died carrying was not my father's; he'd been gone a full year that time, and the child could not have been his. I blamed him for being absent, figuring my mother would not have been driven into the arms of another man if he'd actually been there with us. After he died, I forgave him, a little too late.

"I was able to live off my father's money for four years. More than half still remained when I finally decided to leave, but at twenty, I knew it was time. I'd spent the previous three years frequenting the pubs of Tortuga, trying to get a feel for the life my father had led, the life I knew would one day be mine. I got to the point where I could no longer sit in a house in Tortuga, where listening to pirates' tales in taverns was not enough. The sea was calling to me, and not just the shallow waters I patrolled in the afternoons; the entire ocean was throbbing in my veins. I can tell by the way you're smiling that you know what I mean.

"I boarded up the windows and the doors of our house, tucked my mother's belongings away where no one would ever find them, and set out to find a crew. I soon found a place onboard the _Vicious Melissa_, and I got along well with the crew. We had some good times. Eventually, I felt I needed to move on. I guess I didn't want to get attached to one ship or her crew, so I said my goodbyes and found a new ship. I've spent the last seven years going from ship to ship, leaving when the surroundings became too familiar."

"Question!" Jack, who had been silent for some time (although he occasionally stole the rum from Matthew, or whined when it was stolen from him), piped up again.

"What?"

"If I let you stay, are you just going to stay for a few months and then run off?"

"I don't know yet. How about, when we get to Tortuga, you tell me if I can stay, and I'll tell you how long I plan on staying for. Agreed?"

"Agreed!"

"Anyway, a couple months ago, I finished a 'treasure hunt' with _Satan's Hangman_. I was in Tortuga. I guess I decided to keep going with the biblical theme, and when the _Cain_ came into port, they had a place open, and I offered to fill it. To be kind, I hated them. To be honest, I spent every waking moment, and many sleeping ones, wishing death upon each one of them, and anyone even remotely _related_ to them.

"As I'm sure you know, there are pirates who will only kill when necessary. Others make an art of cruelty. The crew of the _Cain_ did neither. They were slow, stupid, and delighted in inflicting pain. I won't begrudge a man his sadism. I don't go for that, and I usually avoid ships when I sense their tendency to cause... unnecessary... pain. If I have no other option, I can live with it. But those on board the _Cain_ enjoyed not only causing their intended victims to suffer, but members of their own crew as well.

"They once cut off the helmsman's hand and threw him to the sharks for their own amusement. I don't pity him; he would have just as eagerly done the same thing to anyone else, but it still disgusts me. It's not right with the Code."

"That's disgusting." His eyes were dark and electric, narrowed dangerously.

"You're telling me."

"Did they..."

"Do something equally horrific to me? I have no idea. I don't appear to be missing any appendages, but I don't know what they did. Did something happen? Probably, but I don't know what it was. I suppose they left me to die, but you found me. And what happened after, you already know."

Jack looked at him curiously, his head tilted to one side, "That's all the truth, isn't it?" He sounded surprised.

Matt smiled, winked. "For the most part."

By this time, the sun was rising, and the bottle of rum was empty. Jack laughed, nodding toward the brightening horizon. "Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? How's your head?"

"It does. And it's better, thanks."

"Good." Jack stood, bracing himself against the rail behind him. He offered a hand to Matthew, who accepted the help. Once on his feet, he swooned slightly. "What say we go down to the mess, and wake a pair of those dogs, and have 'em take over our watch so we can sleep?"

"Aye, sounds good."

* * *

**Author's note: **Wow! Two chapters in one day! I'm very tired, it's 11:30 PM. I need some sleep. So I'm going to go do that (sleep, that is). May be a little bit before I update again, I should have been working on my tons of homework, but I was doing this instead. So maybe this weekend?

**Review Responses:**

_ping__pong5: _Thank you! I was very proud of myself, even though I had extremely important homework projects that I _should _have been working on. Oh well. They did get done, eventually. I'm just writing these quick responses, and then I am moving on, to Chapter 6!

_Jacklyne_ Thank you very much. I'm glad you like it! More is on the way.

_Reese Sparrow_: All in a day's work! As for Jack and Matt.... ehehe, we'll see, won't we?


	7. 6: Gifts

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 6. Gifts  
Summary: Matthew wanders Port Royal and does some shopping.  
Timeline: Thursday, May 5, 1675 to Friday, May 16, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

The next day, Jack announced his intention to stop at Port Royal. It was common procedure for such a declaration to be preceded by a vote, but because it was in the way, no one bothered to argue, and it was thus decided. They were still some eight or nine days distant from Port Royal, but the hours were quick in their passing. Matthew almost regretted the flight of time.

When he gave it thought, it was strange. He enjoyed spending time with the quirky pirate captain, despite the man's obvious insanity (however exaggerated). Jack was moved easily to mirth, and despite his over-confidence, his excessive hand-gestures, and his fixation with rum, Matt liked him. Of course, he was amusing, but there was something about him that Matthew couldn't place; as if under all the layers of frivolousness, of absurdity, there lurked something more. He loved to watch him; his drunken gait, the way his body was always in motion when he spoke (unless he was trying to make some sort of a point, in which case he would conspicuously hold himself completely still).

If Matthew hadn't known better, he might have assumed he was attracted to the man; but he didn't have time for such things. He admired him, but romance? It was out of the question. It was impossible to fall in love under the circumstances.

He had other worries. He was surprised to find himself readily accepted by the crew. There was not one of them he didn't like. Gibbs, despite being a little slow on the uptake, was a good man, and Anamaria never failed to bring a smile to Matthew's lips. To see a woman who could sail a ship such as this and not be forced to assume another identity--it almost made Matthew jealous. What worried Matthew was not the fact that the crew endured him, or even liked him; it was the fact that he was beginning to feel _attached_, something he'd always avoided. Jack hadn't even said it was definite that he could stay after Tortuga, but the truth was that Matt didn't want to leave.

_"If I let you stay, are you just going to stay a few months and then run off?"_ Jack had asked, and Matthew had delayed. Then, it was because he didn't know the ship well enough to say anything, but now he was torn. The _Black Pearl _was the most incredible ship he'd ever had the joy of sailing, and her crew were of the decent sort (as pirates went), and her captain... he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

* * *

They arrived near Port Royal on a sunny Friday in the late morning. Because the _Black Pearl_ was a pirate ship, they dropped anchor about three miles to the west of the settlement, and rowed ashore. They hiked to town.

He'd only been to Port Royal once, five years prior, and he'd stayed with the ship. It was a bustling town, filled with people, small shops, assorted buildings, carriages... overall, it was not particularly impressive, but it presented an opportunity for the crew to set themselves up in a bar and get plastered, and perhaps later on in the evening find themselves some company for the night. They would be here two days.

As soon as they entered the hub of the town, most went their separate ways, some in groups of three or four, to take care of whatever business needed tending, or replace a worn belt or bootstrap or what-have-you that could not wait. Matthew simply stood, his arms folded across his chest, peering curiously at his surroundings. He wasn't sure where he intended to go, as he had no money, nor any pressing matters to look after.

"So," a voice awoke him from his reverie, and he turned his head to see that Jack was still standing there behind him, "what are you planning t'do?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I'm skint, so nothing in particular."

"That reminds me," Jack said, and taking Matthew's hand, he pressed into it three coins and a folded piece of paper, still warm from being in his pocket. The younger man stared at them, shook his head in disbelief.

"Jack, this is three guineas. You can't give me this."

"It's your share of the other stuff we _borrowed_, and there's a catch, so don't thank me yet," Jack said irritably. Matthew nodded, because it seemed more like the man he knew. "There are the conditions: You must buy everything on the list," he indicated the folded parchment, "and when you have everything on that list, you will meet me back here in no more than four hours, and we will discuss what is to be done with whatever remains."

Before Matthew had a chance to say anything else, Jack turned on heel, and was gone. Bewildered, he unfolded the piece of parchment. Jack's writing was dark and thick, and while legible, it was none too neat. While it was a list, each item on it was annotated; Matt had at first assumed that these were notes as to the exact nature of each item, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that the additional information was in fact the _reasoning _behind each purchase.

_1. A shirt: Yours is too small. Buy one that fits you.  
2. Breeches: Yours are too large. You look like an idiot in them, and one of these days you're going to be raiding a ship and they will fall off. That's no way to impress the ladies, now is it?  
3. Waistcoat: It's not required, but you should have one.  
4. Belt: That piece of rotting leather you wear around your waist is not a belt.  
5. Boots: Yours are falling apart, probably from soaking in the ocean for however long you were floating around. And they're ugly. Enough said.  
6. Cutlass: Yours is dull, ugly, and has little to no balance. Go see William Turner. He's the best blacksmith I know in this joint, and he'll be able to set you up with a blade that isn't a child's toy.  
And don't think I'm being kind. I simply don't want to be seen in the company of a pirate as ill-equipped as you are. Now get going.  
-Captain J. Sparrow._

_The man is right_, Matt thought, looking down at himself. When first he'd received his clothing, it had seemed luxurious; but anything would when compared to the torn, stained, bloody, and otherwise disheveled apparel he'd been sporting beforehand. He smiled and shook his head ruefully, pocketing the coins. He was a little disoriented; it wasn't every day that a man you'd only know a little over a week gave you three guineas. He felt a little awkward with the small fortune in his pocket, and determined to spend it as quickly as possible, starting with the store directly to his right.

* * *

It was three hours later when Matthew stood, a little awkwardly, in front of the door to the smithy. The sign above it had obviously once read "J. Brown", but this had been crossed out, and now over an anvil and hammer was painted, "W. Turner". He stood, unsure if he should knock or let himself in. He might have turned around and walked away, had the door not opened itself in that moment.

A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, stood in the doorframe, dressed in a simple white shirt, breeches, and a blacksmith's apron. His dark hair was tied back away from his face, and he smiled. "You must be Matthew," he stated, and was greeted by a nod. "Well, come in then. Jack said you'd be coming by around this time. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up."

Inside, the smithy was dark. There were only a few windows, high up. A donkey was tethered in the corner, and eyed him warily. A few horseshoes, iron nails, and other such things were about, as well as the expected tools of the trade. For the most part, however, there were swords; they hung off the walls, from various wooden blocks, assorted stand and cases.

William Turner eyed Matthew curiously; he wasn't what he'd expect from one of Jack's friends. For a pirate, he was rather clean. His shirt was dark crimson linen, his breeches and waistcoat navy. The cloth was still stiff, as if it had yet to be worn in, and the man in it seemed uncomfortable and rather nervous, but after they had stared at each other for a moment, he seemed to relax.

"You're... Bootstrap's son, aren't you?" Matthew asked, with a slight smile. Will blinked, nodded.

"Yes. Did Jack tell you that?"

Matt shook his head. "No, you just look a lot like him. He used to frequent the same bars that I did, we shared a few drinks. Good man. Used to always talk about his family back in England, show me the stuff they'd sent 'im. Said it was of more worth to him than all the gold in the world."

Will Turner smiled broadly. He couldn't place it, but this 'Matthew' looked vaguely familiar, as if he'd known him once... perhaps he'd seen him with his father, he didn't know. He brushed the thought aside, and held out a sword. "Try this one. Swing it a bit." He furrowed his brow. It was too light. Taking it back, he gave him another. Too heavy. Another was close, but not quite right. He sighed, "You're difficult to fit to a blade."

"Sorry, left handed," Matthew offered.

"Left handed? Wait! I have just the thing!" Will darted to the other side of the smithy, and pulled from the wall another sword. Matthew took it from him, and in his hand it was the most natural thing in the world. It was neither too long nor too short, its weight and balance perfect, the blade sharp. A cutlass it was, and the most beautiful piece of work he had ever laid eyes on: it was flawless. The half-basket was wrought from a fishnet of black steel in the shape of a conch, the hilt itself encased in leather both tough and soft. "Do you like it?"

No words could be found to describe the beauty of the sword in his hand. _Do you like it?_ "I... It's incredible. I don't think I can afford it."

"Nonsense. Consider it a gift."

"But you don't even know me."

"You seem very familiar to me. And I like you. Besides, Jack said the cheaper the sword I gave you the better; said it meant there would be more left for him to buy rum." They both grinned, and Will shrugged, "And nobody else would buy it."

"What?"

"Said it was a pirate sword. So I was waiting for a pirate to come along." There was a pause, and Will said, "There's a belt, that goes with it, if you like. I had it made."

"If it's not too much to ask."

The belt, when Will retrieved it, was nearly as beautiful as the sword, crafted of the same black leather as was wrapped around the hilt, the buckle of the same black steel, only with silver trim. It was obviously made for the sword, and it fit it perfectly when Matthew buckled it about his waist and sheathed the sword.

"I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Turner."

"You can start by calling me Will."

Matthew grinned. "Alright, Will. It occurs to me that I'm late to meet Jack... You've given me an indication as to his intentions," he paused, considering. "I have the feeling he intends to spend the rest of the night carousing. Perhaps you'd like to join us?"

Will shook his head. "I'd love to, but I can't. Elizabeth is expecting me. However, perhaps you and Jack could come by sometime tomorrow. I'd like to talk more with you about my father, if you wouldn't mind."

"It would be my pleasure. I doubt Jack would object. I'll ask him when I see him."

When Matthew left, Will was left to wonder. The man, a few years his senior, reminded him of someone, though he could not put the face to any name. He'd been well-spoken for a pirate, and well-dressed, though not particularly clean. He'd known his father... Will shook his head. If Matthew came by tomorrow, and hopefully he would, he'd find out more then.

* * *

"You're late," Jack said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, "but I see you got everything."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"You look good. Not for long I imagine." They both smiled, for they knew that 'new' clothes never lasted long in their trade. Jack spent a moment appraising Matthew's clothing, but immediately noticed the sword, "That's a piece of work." He did not bother to hide the awe in his voice. "How much?"

"'E gave it to me. Said he liked me, an' that no one else'd buy it."

"Good man, Will Turner."

"Also said you needed the money to buy rum."

Jack grinned, "Aye, I said that."

"I assume that's what you meant when you said 'discuss what to do with whatever remains.'" He nodded. Matthew smiled, "And he wants us to go and visit him and Elizabeth tomorrow. I assume Elizabeth is his wife?"

"Aye."

* * *

Jack looked down at Matthew, who wore an unusual thoughtful expression. Of course, thoughtful expressions were not unusual for his piratical companion. The man thought too much. He slammed a bottle onto the table in front of him, and he looked up, surprised. "Stop thinking so much and drink, y'sea-roving scallywag!" Jack ordered, sliding into the seat across the table from him.

"Sorry, Cap'n," Matthew muttered, offering a smile. He took the bottle, and pulled the cork with his teeth. He took a hearty swig of the stuff, then set it back down. He didn't mean to think so much, but it had been rather a shock to see young William Turner again after so many years. How long had it been since he had last seen him, a young lad of six or seven years by his mother's side? He looked like his father now. Matthew prayed that the lad didn't recognise him. _That's the last thing I need,_ he thought.

"You're thinking again."

"Sorry, Cap'n."

"Least you could do is tell me what about."

"It's nothing."

"Oh, really?"

"I was thinking that I need to get loaded to the gunnels!" He raised his bottle of rum in a silent toast, then threw back his head and knocked back at least a quarter of it.

* * *

**Author's note: **Finally. This chapter is really long. Longer than any of my other ones, anyway. So Matt used to know Bootstrap. Funny, 'e didn't mention that to Jack... Matt may be honest, but he doesn't say everything all at one time. There's still one more chapter about Port Royal on the way, so stay tuned. Then they're off to Tortuga at last! I want Matthew's sword. It's pretty! Pirates don't usually go shopping, but Matt was in desperate need of new clothes, so Jack decided to be unusually nice. I don't know how in character that is, especially since three guineas is the equivalent of damn near $500, maybe a little more. So now Matt is trendy, and he has a nifty sword. As to why he didn't immediately connect "William Turner" with Bootstrap, "Will" and "Turner" are probably both fairly common names. I need to get to sleep. Translation notes: "skint" is british slang for broke. I don't know if it actually existed back then, but I love the word, so I used it. "Loaded to the gunnels" is pirate slang for "really really drunk."

**Review responses:**

_Reese Sparrow: _You're too kind. And what does a girl love more than shopping? Well, in Matthew's case... swords. And rum. And sailing. Okay, well, still! And yes, I adore Jack's list. I like how he's trying to say, "I'm not being nice! At all!" When really he is. Oh well. He can deny it all he likes, we know the truth. grin

_DaydreamBeliever14:_ Will do, luv, will do. Chapter seven is in the works. Tea! ... Er, "ta!"


	8. 7: Tea

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 7. Tea  
Summary: A trick is played on Jack. Matt tells Will about someone they both knew. Some people begin to put pieces together.  
Timeline: Saturday, May 14, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

"Tea?" Elizabeth offered, teapot in hand. She was a beautiful woman, her gold-kissed curls pulled back in a loose bun, her skin slightly olive from the sun. She wore a simple dress, blue linen with white lace. She was thin, but not excessively so. In essence, she was the perfect woman, yet these was a light in here eyes, one that spoke of humour and adventure. This was not some silly maid. Her husband stood next to her, a slight smile on his lips.

"Tea?" echoed Jack, "Where's the _rum_?"

"There isn't any," she said.

"What? No rum?" he asked, astounded, "How do you live?" He stared at Will, who shrugged, "Well?"

"Actually--" Will started, but his wife interrupted.

"Mr. Sparrow does _not_ require rum at this hour of the morning, Will."

"But you do have some?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"What Will is trying to say, Jack, is that we burn it for fuel in the fireplace."

In seconds, Jack was on his feet. "Sacrilege!" he cried, "You--you infidels! Heathens! Betrayers of the human race! How dare you... burning that most sacred of all drinks... _again_!"

"Jack." Matthew, who had been silent most of this time, pulled on Jack's arm, "Jack, sit down."

"But they--"

"Yes, Jack. Sit down."

He obeyed. Elizabeth poured him a cup of tea, which Jack eyed warily. "It doesn't look like any tea _I_'ve ever heard of."

Matthew rolled his eyes. He accepted his tea gratefully, grinning as he brought the cup to his lips. Tea was not served at room temperature, didn't go down warm and spicy, didn't settle in the bottom of your stomach to smolder the way this stuff did. It was a cruel joke to play on the pirate captain, who still glared resentfully at the cup full of "tea", which was, in truth, his precious rum.

"Matthew?" Will asked.

"Aye?"

"You said you--"

"Needed to ask you some questions about the maintenance of my new sword," Matthew finished for him, standing. Will looked at him, confusion clear on his face. "And I do. Why don't we step into the hall, as I'm sure these two won't be at all interested?" Will nodded, and Matt stepped out ahead of him. "Enjoy your tea, Captain," he said as he brushed past him. Jack just glared.

* * *

"What was that about?" Will asked as they stood in the hall.

"Sorry," Matt said, "but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather Jack not know about my acquaintanceship with Bootstrap yet."

"Oh. Why's that?"

Matt grinned, "We've got a deal going. Trading stories of our past. The less he knows, the more I have to bargain with, the more I can find about him... or, the more I can find out the _truth_ about him. It goes like this: I told him my life story, he owes me his, or the bare bones anyway. The more details I leave for later, the more I can con them out of him. Right now, he's in my debt."

"Ah," Will said, understanding at last. "Will I be in your debt as well, then?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm not really telling you about myself, I'm telling you about old Bill Turner, and that's your business anyway. The man's your father; you've a right to know. He was a good man, Bootstrap was, though I'm sure you've already heard that countless times." Will nodded.

"Used to drink at the Faithful Bride, you've been there I hear," and Will nodded as he spoke, so he continued, "often with Jack, sometimes alone. I went in one day and there wasn't a spare seat in the place except by Turner, so I sat there. We got to talking, and we're both originally from England, so we talked about that. "

"Where in England are you from?"

"That's none of your business, lad. See, your father's your business, but my life isn't. Right? So about Bootstrap; we got good and drunk that night, went to our respective 'homes'. I saw him a few days later. That was our entire knowledge of one another: sitting and talking about home, comparing notes. He told me about his wife and his kid, 'bout the last time he'd seen 'em. I guess y'could say we were friends, but I don't know. We talked. He really loved you and your mum, I don't know if Jack'd be the type to tell y'that, but you should know."

"I... thank you."

"No problem. He used t'stand up for the barmaids and other wenches if men were bugging 'em. Told 'em t'lay off. Gave 'em the proper encouragement, if y'know what I mean." Matthew's voice had shifted more into the piratical rogue he sometimes used, and though it wasn't entirely noticeable, the shift was there. "Anyway," he said loudly, "thanks for that advice. I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

Jack looked up at Matt curiously, who sat down beside him. He'd thought he'd heard something about Bootstrap, but he may have been imagining it. He returned his gaze to glare at the cup of tea.

"You know, if you'd just drink it, you'd find it's not that bad," Matthew informed him, taking a sip of his own drink.

"You'd do well not to speak to your captain in that manner, sailor," Jack returned, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Well, sir, _technically_ you're not my captain yet, as you have not yet accepted me on to your crew, so technically I'm not required to call you captain or follow your orders. One might say I do it just to humour you. And because I need a ride to Tortuga, at the very least."

"Then, _dear_ Matthew, if you don't stop being, for lack of a better term, an idiot, I shall leave you in Port Royal."

"Oh no. Spare me from that torturous fate. I beg of you," he pleaded sarcastically. Jack rolled his eyes, and Matthew grinned. Elizabeth and Will exchanged curious expressions.

"How did you two meet?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We found Matthew," Jack informed her, "floating. In the ocean. So we fished 'im out." Matthew nodded in agreement. "He was real beat up when we found him, too. Y'can still see some o'the bruises. Lost 'is memory. Well, not all of it. A few hours worth, we figure. I told him to be useful, and 'e was, so we're thinking we might keep him."

"Oh," Elizabeth said. It sounded as if Jack was talking about a lost puppy. There was something strange about Matthew though, something she couldn't place. Perhaps it was the slenderness of his frame, or the delicate lines of his face, the way he argued with his captain. His voice, though gruff, was an octave too high, and he moved with just a little too much grace. He just wasn't right.

Jack and Matthew remained for an hour or so more, discussing their voyage together thus far, and the details of their arrangement. At last, Jack was convinced to drink his tea, and he was surprised to discover it had been rum all along. They all laughed at his expense, but not even he could suppress a smile. At last, Captain and "guest" departed, having to prepare the ship for departure, and round up the band of scattered, drunken sailors.

"Will," Elizabeth said, "is it just me, or was there something odd about that man with Jack?"

"I don't know. He did seem a little off, though I can't say how." Will shrugged, took a sip of his rum. Elizabeth glared at him, and he put the glass down on the table. "Good man though."

"Or woman."

"What?"

Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door. One of the servants entered the salon, curtsied to the pair. "Sir, missus, Commodore Norrington to see you at the door."

"Let him in then."

"Yes, Mrs. Turner."

"Has Jack Sparrow been here?"

"What?" Will asked, "No 'hello'? No 'how are you Will and Elizabeth?' Do you trust us so little?" James Norrington shook his head.

"No, but he appears to have kidnapped a young girl!"

"Kidnapped? When, where? Who, for that matter? And how do you know this?" Elizabeth stood suddenly, crossing her arms across her chest. Will looked up at her.

"A payment of gold was being made for her return, and he stole it, obviously so he would have both the girl and the gold, and therefore would not have to return her, except for twice the price."

Elizabeth continued to look at him expectantly. "James, does this 'girl' have a name?"

"Miriam Sharp, I believe."

Will stood, a shocked expression on his face. "Miriam Sharp? Why, that's the girl that used--" he stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, and both Elizabeth and Norrington stared at him. "Matthew Brown!"

"What?" both Elizabeth and Norrington demanded, though for different reasons.

"Matthew is Miriam! You said he reminded you of a girl, and I thought he reminded me of someone! I didn't think that it could be the girl who used to tend me when my mother wanted me off her hands. Her parents and mine were good friends, she left for the Caribbean five years before I did. That's how she knew my father!"

Norrington was confused, but Elizabeth understood exactly. "Of course! It all makes sense now! But why would Jack kidnap her, and then dress her up as a man, and then let her wander around the town by herself? And if she was kidnapped, why would she go back to him?"

"Unless she's planning something," Will suggested.

"It's a possibility. I wish they'd stayed for longer!"

"The story about fishing him out of the ocean _was_ rather suspicious."

"What," Norrington interrupted, "may I ask, is going on?"

"Well," Will said slowly, "it's a long and rather complicated story."

"I suggest, Mr. Turner, that you start at the beginning."

Will nodded in response, "When I was a lad growing up in England..."

* * *

**Author's note: **Confusion reigns. I was going to make this chapter longer, but I really want to get on to the good stuff... Tortuga! Plus I need to go to bed earlier tonight, I'm exhausted from staying up too late too often.

**Review responses: **

_dagzer: _I'll try my best. Thank you!

_Reese Sparrow: _I think you're one of the few who appreciates it as much as I do.

_heather321: _But they have to go to Tortuga!


	9. 8: Bootstrap

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13, R if mostly un-described nudity offends you.  
Chapter Title: 8. Bootstrap  
Summary: Jack and Matt go drinking, and Jack makes his decision. Upon returning home, Matthew thinks of an old friend.  
Timeline: Tuesday, May 17, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

"At long last! My second love," Jack proclaimed, staggering down the gangway onto the pier, "Tortuga!" Matthew smiled, rolled his eyes. "Y'ever been t'Tortuga, mate?"

"Jack?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"I lived here. For nearly six years. Remember?"

"I love this place, mate. Only place on land that's _really_ worth getting off the _Pearl_ to spend a few hours with." Jack waved his arms illustratively, and Matt just nodded. Jack pointed at the sign of the Faithful Bride, upon which was painted a cutlass and a bouquet of white roses. "There! My wife!" Matthew winced noticeably, though Jack had his back turned and could not see the expression.

"Let's go this way," he said, taking Jack's arm and attempting to pull him in the opposite direction. Jack resisted, his brows knitting in confusion. There was a slight pout to his lower lip.

"Why?"

"I'm not well liked by some of the regulars there, so if it's all the same to you, I know another place. Let's go there instead," Matt pleaded. If worse came to worst, he would leave Jack and go alone, but he enjoyed the company.

Jack stopped suddenly, peering curiously at the young man. Matthew seemed genuinely worried about going into the bar. "Let's make a deal," he said, a mischievous tone to his voice.

"What's that?" came the wary response.

"If I go with you to this other bar, you have to tell me what happened that causes you to avoid the Faithful Bride."

"How about I _don't_ tell you, but I pay for the drinks?" Matthew offered hopefully, a convincing grin on his lips.

"Agreed!"

He was relieved. He knew the way to Jack's heart; that was certain. He didn't enjoy directly lying to the man, but he couldn't risk that anyone in the Bride would recognise him as Raven. It wasn't uncommon for men to be forced to leave a certain bar due to strenuous relations with other patrons, and it was a story easily bought. He pointed in their new direction, a small pub called the Horse and Groom. It was his second favourite in the town, but he couldn't risk his identity, even if The Faithful Bride was the best tavern this side of the equator.

What Matt really wanted was to go home, to strip off the clothes and the bandages, to tend to the bruises, to cook his own meal, and crawl into his own bed, however dusty, and go to sleep. But there were other things to attend to first. He smiled at the barmaid who served their rum, and she smiled in return.

She was a saucy wench with a pretty face and pleasant curves, her blonde curls tied up in a piece of cloth. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, bright with laughter, and her skin a perfect hue of sun-tanned gold. She wore a bodice of forest green over a chemise that fell revealingly off one shoulder, a long skirt falling about her ankles.

"Name, sir?" she asked in a honey-smooth voice, looking expectantly at the oldest of the pair.

"Jack," he responded, and then indicated his companion, "and he's Matthew."

She smiled sweetly, "'Course, I alr'dy know 'is name." Truly, she knew him best as Richard, but she understood his tendency to change names. She slid into the seat beside him, draped an arm around his neck. He grinned at Jack, who arched a brow.

"We're old friends," Matt informed him. She nibbled his ear. _I'm sure she thinks one day I'm actually going to sleep with her, instead of just asking her to pretend that I already have_, he thought with a slight chuckle, giving an imperceptible shake of his head. She crawled into his lap, and he offered her some of his rum. When she shook her head, he took a draw from it himself, mumbling something to the effect of 'your loss.'

"What's your name, miss?" Jack asked in between gulps his own drink.

"Emma," she purred to him. He grinned at her, and Matt winked broadly across the table.

"Emma's a good girl," he praised, and pushed her off his lap, "which is why she has to go tend to her other customers over there." He pointed towards another table, where a small group of men were watching expectantly, waiting for their drinks. She whimpered.

"But Matt, you're my _favourite_!"

"I know I am love, but y'gotta work or y'll get booted. Much as y'know I adore you, I know I gotta share, and you know that too," he pushed her away, patting her lightly on the behind. She slapped his hand playfully.

"None of that now," she said. "Later."

"'Course, darling." Both men watched her stroll across the floor to take orders from her other customers. Jack still had the same grin on his face. Matt turned back to face him, his expression changing dramatically. "Jack."

"Aye?"

"You make your decision yet?"

"About?"

"... Crew?"

"Oh. Aye."

"Out with it then."

"If I'm going to be your captain, you have to treat with me with more respect than that, sailor."

"But you're not my captain until you say the word. So out with it."

There was a moment in which they just looked at each other. Silently, Matt was praying. _Please let me stay, _he thought,_ I've never actually wanted to be a part of any crew in particular, but I want this. I want it so much it hurts. Tell me I've proved I can do it. Say it, Jack... Damn it all!_

"Aye."

"Aye?"

"Aye. You're me crew now, but y'gotta keep yer part o'the bargain. How long y'staying for?" A thousand possible answers sprung to his lips. _Forever. Until death take me. Until I go to Davy Jones' locker. Until I go to Fiddler's Green. _Why did he want to stay on that ship so badly? He didn't know. For two weeks, he'd been on the _Black Pearl_, and in that time he had come to love her as no other ship he'd yet sailed, and he respected her crew, and as for her Captain...

Instead he said, slowly, "Can I get back to you on that in the morning?" Jack nodded, and Matt smiled slightly.

"You said you had a place here," Jack said, more a question than a statement.

"Aye."

"Where is it?"

"Rather not say. Place's my own, prefer t'keep it t'myself, no shipmates, if y'll understand." Matthew's home was the only sacred place he had, the one place that was his alone, where he was not required to pretend to be anyone else. He didn't particularly want to risk that someone might decide to stop by and 'visit'.

"Aye," he said, and nodded. Matt's smile widened slightly.

It was late before Matt finally dragged himself from the table. He dug a handful of silver coins from his pocket, put them one by one on the table, along with the gradually increasing pile of mugs and bottles. "Tell Emma I had to go, won't you? She'll be disappointed, but I need t'be going." Jack nodded, but he seemed to be asleep. Matthew sighed. We whistled to get the girl's attention, and waved his goodbye. She smiled, though she seemed a bit sad. He prodded Jack, who groaned.

"Me rum," he mumbled.

"Yours, fine. Get up, y'lazy arse." His captain didn't move, although he opened his eyes and looked up sleepily. Matt hauled him to his feet, although Jack was more dead weight than anything else. His knees shook as he tried to hold himself upright. _Drunken slob_, Matt thought, draping Jack's arm around his shoulders. It took an hour for Matt to half walk half drag Captain Jack Sparrow back to his ship. He left the man in Cotton's care, and began the long walk home.

* * *

Home was a simple affair: a small, two-story house with a room on each floor. The small, square windows were boarded up, to prevent thieves from taking advantage of the owner's extended absences. The brass key fit into the lock with a gentle click, and the door creaked open. The air inside was stale and dusty, but Matthew barely noticed. He fumbled around in the darkness for a candle, for flint and tinder. The small flame flickered off the walls, as Matthew made his slow way up the stairs.

He peeled off his waistcoat, shirt, boots and breeches, threw them haphazardly to the floor. With his hand, he brushed the dust off the mirror in the corner, staring at himself, at the white bandages which bound his chest. Reaching behind his back, he located the knot that held the strips of cloth in place, sighing with relief as they unraveled and fell to the floor.

Sometimes Miriam forgot she was a woman, forgot about the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, the very slight curve of her hips, the softness of the skin on her stomach and thighs that was untouched by the rigors of her life at sea. She ran her hands down her sides, feeling the places where her body curved, if only slightly, finally letting her arms fall at her sides. How long had it been since last she had worn a dress? She could not remember if she was considered beautiful, and when she looked at her dirty reflection in the mirror, she wondered what men would think if they saw what was under the cloth.

The bruises were fading on her flesh now, and the cuts and scratches, but still they pained her. They made her feel ugly, marred, somehow inherently flawed. She wondered if remembering how she'd received them would make them feel less... conspicuous, less wrong. Yet, no matter how she tried, she could not remember. The hours were slates of empty darkness and persistent silence.

She furrowed her brows, tried to remember the last compliment she had received that hadn't been, "You're a good man." Her mother used to call her an angel, despite the fact that she had never listened to a word of advice her mother gave her. She had learned her sewing, her needlepoint, her cooking, all the while thinking that it would be useful to mend a sail or man the galley. Writing was useful to send letters home about her adventures, reading because she could read about pirates, math to count the treasures she would plunder.

When had a man last called her beautiful, and not been a drunk fool trying to seduce her in the tavern? She struggled to remember. It was Bootstrap, she decided, he'd been her family, after hers had died. It had been eleven years, since he'd set sailed to seek the lost treasure of the Isla de Muerta, since last she'd seen him.

* * *

_"Raven," he whispered, and she stared at him with pale eyes, electric blue and bloodshot from crying, and her black hair blowing about her face in the wind. "Don't cry, darling." She wished she could stop, but she couldn't. He hugged her, and she buried her face in his chest, breathed deeply the odour of salt and sweat that was his. She knew, vaguely, that she must smell like rum and ale from serving it all last night._

_"You're leaving, Bootstrap. I always cry when you leave," she murmured. But this time was worse. Why couldn't she escape the horrible, sinking feeling that he wouldn't return, that this would be the last time they stood on pier that led to the _Black Pearl_, and to his departure?_

_"It's bad luck," he said, "do you want to give me bad luck?" He was lying. It was bad luck to talk to a red-head, bad luck to throw stones or wear a dead sailor's clothes, bad luck to see a dog near a fishing tackle. She knew all about bad luck. Crying wasn't bad luck. She shook her head, reached into a pocket. She fished from it a pair of gold earrings and a feather. She pressed them into his hand._

_"For good luck, then."_

_He held her at arms length and smiled slightly. "Your father would be proud of you, Raven." She smiled vaguely. "You take care of yourself while I'm away, alright? I want you to be here when I get back."_

_She didn't voice her fears, just swallowed her tears and nodded. "I'll miss you, Boot."_

_"I'll miss you too, kid." They stood in silence a moment, clasping each other's arms. Anyone would have thought them father and daughter, or perhaps older brother and younger sister, and so they had been for the past two years, since her father had died. She sighed, turned her face away, and looked out to sea. "Look at me, Raven," he said, and she obeyed, "you're beautiful, you know that? Even when you cry, you're the prettiest girl in this whole place, but you're even prettier when you smile." She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. He brushed away her tears with callused fingertips. "I'll be back before you know it, don't worry."_

_"Why do you have to leave?"_

_"Gotta go with Jack. He'll get into trouble without me."_

_"What about me?"_

_"You can take care of yourself. Jack's bound to do something... stupid."_

_"If you say so."_

_From afar, a voice called. She recognized it: Jack's voice. She'd never talked to him, Bootstrap wouldn't let her. He said Jack was a good man, but that she should keep her distance; he might get her into trouble. She didn't want to talk to him, because she didn't like him. Whenever he left, Bootstrap left too, and then she was alone again, with a bunch of drunken fools in the Faithful Bride._

_"I have to go now. Wait for me?"_

_"Of course. The second I hear the _Black Pearl_ has been seen on the horizon, I'll be here waiting. I'll be here."_

_"That's a good girl. I'll be seeing you." He hugged her one last time, and turned, and walked away. She smiled vaguely._

_"I hope so," she whispered to his receding back, crossing her arms across her chest. She stood there until the _Pearl_ disappeared over the horizon, and he was forever gone._

_

* * *

_

Yes, eventually Bootstrap Bill Turner became another empty place in her life, a father or brother or friend whose space could not be filled. Gone to the deeps, forever, to Davy Jones' locker, with a canon tied to Bootstrap's bootstraps. _You're beautiful, you know that? Even when you cry, you're the prettiest girl in this whole place, but you're even prettier when you smile._ She smiled in the mirror, ran her hair through her cropped locks. Once, they had been so long. He had called her Raven then, for her hair was as dark and full of luster as a raven's wing.

"You said you'd be back, Boot," she whispered to no one, "told me to wait for you. And so I did. It was a year later that I heard where you had gone: to the bottom of the ocean. Still I waited. Ten long years I waited for new of the _Black Pearl_, hoping beyond hope that she would return to Tortuga and you would be with her. Eventually, I heard she had docked. I was in town at the time. You were not there, I watched from afar, watched every sailor file off that ship. And you were gone."

She had blamed Jack Sparrow, for ten years she blamed him for the death of William Turner, until he saved a young man called Matthew Brown from the ocean deeps and offered him a place on his ship. _Why does Matthew love that ship?_ she wondered, _Is it because Bootstrap's boots once caused those revered planks to creak, because every place Matt sits or walks or lays down, Bootstrap was once there? Can I not let go?_ But she could not. Why bother? She had released her mother's ghost, from all but the dusty contents of a large chest. She had released her father's anger, though the pain still lingered. Was that not good enough? _No._

It was not good enough. Miriam Sharp still clung to her ghosts, to her mother's needlepoint and father's sails, to Bootstrap's ship. To see his son had been a shock, to see the face she remembered as so youthful, so naïve, suddenly so much older, married to a beautiful woman. She told him half-truths about his father, because he needed to know that his father had loved him, she knew Jack would not be the type to deliver the message.

For years she had avoided the man, because Bootstrap said he was trouble. She'd never understood why it was alright for Bootstrap to associate with him, but why she had been forbidden from so much as serving the man a drink. But he'd been insistent, and she had obeyed, until Fate had forced him upon her. _I'm sorry Bootstrap,_ she thought, _but it is Her choice, not mine_. She hoped she was forgiven.

She'd told Will that she didn't want Jack to know because it gave her something to bargain with. It was true, but she didn't think she wanted Jack to know about their friendship at all. For one, if he knew, he would know that she was a woman, a common bar-wench, no pirate. _I am a pirate,_ she thought fiercely, _have I not proven that much? _She shook her head. She did not want him to know who or what she was, but mostly she just didn't want him to know that they were connected by more than chance, by more than the sheer luck of the draw. She didn't want him to know that she probably would have ended with seeking him out anyway, because she needed to know what he knew about old William Turner, didn't want him to know the real reasons behind her bargains with her past.

She sighed, turned away from the mirror. She crawled into her dusty bed and pulled the covers over her head and closed her eyes. To not dream for once would be a blessing, to forget that she had ever felt pain or loss or remorse, that she might wake in the morning and sink seamlessly back into her role in the theatre that her life had become.

* * *

**Author's note: **Longest chapter yet now. More about Miriam's past, though this time she isn't talking to anyone but herself. Originally, she was going to be connected to Will/Jack/Elizabeth through Elizabeth's mother, but I thought the connection with Bootstrap was more interesting, and provided an interesting link between her and Jack. Something about this chapter, I really like. I think it's my favourite yet, probably because you get to see her as a woman, and just her being _herself_. I think her 'seduction' of Emma is great. Emma may or may not have a larger part in the story later. I'm beginning the introductions of my original sub-characters now, there'll be another in the next chapter, methinks. By the way, the bar, "The Horse and Groom" is a tribute to Douglas Adams' _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_.

**Review responses:**

_Reese Sparrow: _Thanks. Poor Miri, doesn't get to be herself very often.

_Lady Maewan: _You're far too kind. Yeah, there are some spelling errors. I know where a lot of them are, but I'm so tired and such I never get around to fixing them. I have a hard copy with a bunch of the mistakes highlighted in blue, but I haven't got around to fixing and uploading the corrections. I get confused when I write sometimes, and mix up the genders when I'm not _trying_ to mix them up.

_DaydreamBeliever14: _It's on the way. Promise!

_pingpong5:_ I heart this chapter, and you're too sweet. Thank you.

_heather321: _Thanks! I plan to.


	10. 9: Everywhere

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 9. Everywhere  
Summary: Matthew dreams, and gives Jack his decision.  
Timeline: Tuesday, May 17, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

_The four men sitting around the table looked up at her with appraising eyes. Raven was easily the most beautiful serving maid in the establishment, and the most unattainable. She was skilled in the art of dancing just out of the reach of groping men, and knew exactly how to mislead them into believing they actually had a chance. Everything about her was a part of the grand act: the way the wine-coloured chemise fell off one her shoulders, the slight curve of the dark cherry and black stripes on her bodice to make her appear more well-endowed, her tendency to casually hike up the skirt of her dress with one hand when she walked._

_"Any news of the __Pearl__?" she asked conversationally, setting the mugs of ale on the table two at a time and collecting the empty ones._

_"Aye. 'Parently, she's tak'n t'lootin' an' pillagin', 'asn't b'n leav'n surv'v'rs," the oldest said, shaking his head._

_"Not like Jack Sparra' at all t'do th't."_

_"I 'eard there was a mutiny."_

_"Mutiny?" she questioned. Surely not. Bootstrap would never betray his captain, nor allow any such thing. He was mindlessly devoted to his captain, fool though he may be. She had finished the exchange of mugs by now, and stood with the tray balanced jauntily on one hand._

_"Aye. 'Memb'r, they went aft'r the treasure o'the Isla de Muerta? ''Long the way they lef' Jack b'hind. Made 'im gov'ner o'some l'il il'nd, or so I 'eard."_

_"Goes against the code, doesn't it?"_

_"Aye. One o'the crew obj'ct'd, so the new Cap'n, Barbossa, 'ad 'is crew tie Bootstrap's boostraps t'a cannon and sent 'im t'Davy Jones' locker."_

_"...Bootstrap?" Raven echoed. She swooned, the tray and glasses falling as she wobbled, clattering to the ground. She tried to steady herself by grabbing hold of the table, but she felt the darkness growing on the edges of her vision. _Bootstrap's bootstraps?_ "That's not possible," she whispered. She could see they were staring at her as she crumpled to the floor._

She groaned as she rolled over, the loud thump as she fell out of bed almost comforting. Miriam dragged herself to her feet. Her head was pounding, her body ached. Vaguely, she sensed that she was crying, and she brushed away the tears. _He's dead. It was a dream. He's been dead. Stop dwelling. I can't._ She draped herself in her sheets and stumbled downstairs.

The door was open, allowing light and fresh air to stream in. Miriam sat in her chair, a cup of tea in her hands. She sipped it carefully, a slight frown on her lips. It was midmorning, and though she knew that soon she would have to shed her bed-sheet, get dressed, and return to the Pearl, she was stalling. She would have to give Jack an answer, and she didn't want to.

_I should tell him I can't stay at all_, she thought, _Bootstrap _told_ me to stay away from him. Of course, I don't always do what Bootstrap tells me, not that he tells me anything anymore._ She closed her eyes. _It's Jack's fault,_ she reminded herself,_ I shouldn't want to stay on his ship. If he hadn't come up with that fool idea, I'd still have a family._

_He saved your life,_ another voice reminded her, _you should be grateful._

"He killed Bootstrap," she said aloud, "it's his fault." She knew it wasn't. Bootstrap had gone all those years ago because he knew Barbossa would mutiny, if he was given the chance. He had gone because he knew Jack needed him. He had gone because he was a good man, and because he had to go. No one had known how badly it would end, with the possible exception of Barbossa. Jack didn't kill Bootstrap, Barbossa did.

In truth, the _Black Pearl_ was her last connection to Bootstrap. She had to stay with that ship, and she knew it. Bootstrap _had_ told her to stay away from Jack, but she had debts to pay, and debts to collect on. Beyond that, the _Pearl_offered her the chance to understand a part of his life that otherwise she would have no insight into. She was about to stand and return upstairs, when a voice interrupted her.

"Ada?" it said, cautiously. The woman called Ada looked up, and putting her cup down on the small table next to her, she smiled.

"Caroline, it's lovely to see you."

"You've not been by for quite some time."

"Circumstances have prevented it, you know how it is."

"I do."

"Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you."

"Please, sit down." She obliged. Caroline was an older woman, nearing fifty. Her hair was streaked with gray, though once it had been a rich and earthy brown. Her eyes were still dark and glossy, her smile just as wide. Miriam had always admired the woman, but had kept her distance. She served a purpose, and beyond that, it was best not to get too close.

Caroline did not know her real name, though she knew it likely wasn't Ada. She knew every ship Miriam had sailed on, every name she had used. The only information 'Ada' withheld from her was her real name, whatever ship she was currently on, and whatever name she was currently using. She always had the information that was just slightly out of date. Ada gave her a guinea every month to deny her existence, unless threatened, in which case she should direct them to the previous ship she'd been on.

"Last ship was the Cain," Ada said. "Name was Anthony Felton."

The older woman nodded. "New ship then?"

"Yes," came the response, followed by a long pause. "Has anyone been by?"

"An older man, might have been forty or a little older. Said he was looking for Raven Sparks. He didn't threaten me, so I said I'd never known or met any girl by the name of Raven, and he went on his way. He didn't leave a name."

"I see." It had been nine years since Miss Raven Sparks had stopped working at the Faithful Bride and had, for all intensive purposes, disappeared, seven years since last someone had asked Caroline where she was. She wondered who was looking for her after all this time. "If you see him again, ask for his name. I'm curious."

"I will."

Caroline left an hour later, and Miriam applied her bandages and returned to the _Black Pearl_. She wondered why the _Pearl_always docked at the same pier; in a way, she both loved and hated it. It reminded her of Bootstrap, and she never could decide if she wanted to remember or forget. She stood in silence on the spot where she had seen him off, eleven years ago, and stared into the distance where she had watched him disappear over the horizon.

"What're y'lookin' at, mate?" Jack's voice interrupted her from her contemplation.

Startled, Matthew spun to space him. He fumbled for words, shook his head. "Nothing, just--nothing, really." Jack nodded, as if considering this response.

"Nothing must very interesting then. You were staring at it awfully hard."

"Oh, indeed."

"How long y'gonna stay?"

The younger man paused, heaving his shoulders. "As long as you'll have me, Cap'n."

"Good! The answer I was hoping for. _Pearl_'s not made for men who come and go. If y'love a girl, y'don' take 'er and leave 'er, y'stay with her. She needs that kinda respect, mate, needs a crew that's faithful to her. Y'think y'can do it?" Jack was both serious and teasing, light-hearted but meaning every word he said. And he was right.

"Aye, Cap'n," Matthew said forcefully. He would stay; he knew he had to. She was his only chance, and he knew _Pearl_understood that. Others might say she was just a pile of wood, canvas and rope, but the _Black Pearl _was more than that. Only through her could he find Bootstrap, and through that man's memory, peace; and _freedom_.

_"The _Black Pearl: _she's more than just wood, more than just sails, keel, hull, deck, helm and rudder. She's the fastest ship in the __Caribbean__, maybe even the whole world. Once you set foot on her, you can't leave her, ever. Jack, he can't ever lose that ship. It wouldn't just kill him, it would devour him. No man who's loved her can live without her. She's everything you've ever wanted, and then some. Jack told me once, in a rare moment of sobriety, that a ship is freedom. I don't know if it's possible, but Raven, the _Pearl_, she's more than that. I don't know if you can understand, but one day you will." She remembered his words well. She'd thought of them every day when she'd woken in the mess, or when she'd stood on the deck and stared out to see. _I don't need more yet,_ she thought, but_ I do need freedom. This is my chance. This is my only chance.

Jack looked curiously at Matthew, who seemed serious and pensive. He wanted to ask if something was wrong, but thought better of it. He shoved his hands into his pockets, stood and stared at the younger man, waiting to be remembered. His patience was rewarded in a short moment.

"Where are we going next?"

"Nowhere," Jack said expansively, "and everywhere. Havanna, Santiago, Barbados, Nassau... all those places are great, y'know. But once you get there, what then? So the _Pearl_, she goes everywhere, because then there's always someplace else to go. If y'wanna go everywhere, we can go anywhere! You see?" He made wide hand gestures as he spoke, pointing at the horizon, the crystal clear waters and the wide blue sky. His kohl-lined eyes were slightly narrowed, and he stared off into space as if he could capture it with his gaze. He nearly succeeded. Perhaps he looked foolish, his wild dreadlocks falling in front of his face, beads and coins chiming as he moved his head.

Matthew grinned. _Yes, this is what I need. This is freedom, this is what Bootstrap meant. And I begin to understand what he saw in this man. No, I can't blame him. Bootstrap needed this ship, as I need her now. _"When do we leave?"

Jack smiled one of his slow, almost foreboding smiles, and his dark eyes seemed to shine. "Tomorrow," he said.

* * *

**Author's note: **Chapter nine, at last. Caroline is a fairly minor character, and you won't see much of her, but she's useful. Caroline Reith. You begin to see how many names this crazy Miriam has. Matthew, Anthony, Richard, Ada, Raven. And she's got more, too. Consider that she's been sailing for eight or nine years, and she probably changes ships once ever three to four months, five or six if she really likes it. That means she has anywhere from sixteen to thirty-six names for ships alone, plus land-names (Raven is a land name, for example. All of her female names (exception of her _real_ name) are "land names"). It's not _her_ names I have problems with, it's the names of the _ships_ that drive me crazy.

**Review Responses:**

_Reese Sparrow: _I found an automatic ship name generator. It's cool. I usually modify the names it serves up a bit, but it helps. _Vicious Melissa_ is one of its creations that I really liked for some reason, even though ship names ending in _a_ are supposed to be unlucky.

_DaydreamBeliever14: _Yes, there will be much more Jack.


	11. 10: Salt in a Wound

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 10. Salt in a Wound  
Summary: The _Black Pearl_ raids another merchant ship. Extraneous circumstances lead to Matthew being compromised.  
Timeline: Wednesday, May 25, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

Jack sighed dramatically. _Why can't they just make this easier on themselves, on my crew, and on me?_ he thought. _But no, they have to throw their little temper-tantrum and try to sink my ship. Idiots._ He shook his head. They would simply have to learn the hard way.

Another merchant ship had tempted the _Black Pearl _and her crew. Unfortunately, this one would not be had so easily. The Jolly Roger had not even been raised yet, and already they had started firing upon her. Perhaps such asinine behaviour was intended to discourage the pirates, but it had the opposite effect. He smiled.

He was only slight nervous. He preferred such encounters to be as free from violence as possible, because violence often led to being forced to kill someone, which was often unpleasant, however necessary. It wasn't just that the act of killing was distasteful, it was really messy all around. You kill someone, and then someone else wants to kill you as an act of revenge for the death of whoever it was that you killed, and then maybe someone else wants to get revenge for your death, and so on and so forth.

Jack knew what it was like to lose someone. He'd been through it before, nearly eleven years ago, when he had learned that Barbossa had _murdered_ Bootstrap. The same spiral of death has played out them. Barbossa had left him to die on that island. In retaliation, Bootstrap sentenced the entire crew to eternal damnation by sending a piece of the treasure to his son. In anger, Barbossa tied Bootstrap to a cannon and drowned him. As a result, Jack had been forced to avenge both himself and his own best friend. He would prefer not to be the target of ten years of dreams and plans of hatred and murder, as Barbossa had been to him.

Of course, Jack wasn't a lying bastard. Sure, he twisted the truth, withheld information, took advantage of loopholes... but then, wasn't that what Barbossa did? When had the man outright lied? He hadn't. _This is too frustrating!_ _I keep comparing myself to him. I'm _not_ him. I didn't leave anybody on an island to die of starvation. I didn't incite anybody's crew to mutiny and leave their captain to die of starvation on some god forsaken island in the middle of nowhere, and I didn't kill Bootstrap... I only... wait._

Jack shook his head. _Stop thinking about it, you're the captain of this ship, you're currently under attack or attacking, whichever, and you can't afford to be arguing the cause of his death with yourself, _he commanded himself, not entirely convinced. With great effort, he reverted to the here and now, to the snap and flash of battle, to the roar of cannons and muskets and the unruly threats and screams of his crew. He grinned.

Yes, death was messy, but the utter chaos and confusion of the fray was unbeatable. The determined snarls of his crew, the shouting and the shrieking of curses and threats, and the glinting of cutlasses beneath the afternoon sun: all these reminded him why he had chosen this life. "Grapnels, _ready_!" he shouted, drawing his own sword.

Matt, on the quarterdeck below, looked up at him. Sparrow was quite the sight: his hat was perched atop his head, the slight rim of his bandanna visible on his brow and his wild hair wind-tossed while he held his cutlass above his head. The grin he wore was positively dangerous, and his dark eyes seemed almost joyful. Matthew held the rope in one hand, his cutlass in the other. A peaceful boarding was always pleasant, but there was something about the flash and bang of battle that could not be matched, and prizes well-earned.

"Get over there, y'scurvy dogs!" came the order at last, and Matthew was only too glad to obey. There was a slight knot in his gut as he swung over, in the brief moments when he dangled over the ocean between. However, his feet swiftly found the opposite deck, and his sword soon met another. Steel clashed against steel, and Matthew beamed savagely at his opponent.

"Arr!" he growled, parrying his opponent's thrust. He feinted with the cutlass, and made a quick kick at the other man's feet. His boot connected with the man's kneecap, and Matt smiled with satisfaction as the man tumbled over the nearby railing and into the sea. They'd fish him out later. He raised his sword to block another attack, inordinately pleased with himself when his assailant's weapon flew out of his hand.

It was a long fight. The other crew was not willing to give up, but neither were the pirates, outnumbered as they were. Jack's crew aimed mainly to disarm their opponents, and possibly render them unconscious or otherwise incapable of defense. Bloodshed was typically avoided by the crew of the _Pearl_, unless absolutely necessary. However, they did a good job at convincing the honest sailors that they were savage and cruel, out for the blood of their victims.

After nearly three hours of fighting, the crew of _Sheila's Heart_ surrendered. They were disarmed and bound to the mast, while the crew of the _Pearl_ went about their business of lifting whatever valuables could be found. Captain Jack Sparrow stood near the captain of the other ship, idly fondling the handle of his cutlass. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, and nothing could erase the feral grin he wore upon his lips. He watched with satisfaction as most of his crew carried various crates, boxes and barrels from this ship to his own. _I think I saw one labeled 'rum' a little while ago. I wonder if it's a good vintage._

He noticed the young man, Matthew, standing not too far from him. He was watching the prisoners, his own cutlass in hand. _Good lord, that's a beautiful sword,_ Jack thought, eyeing the handiwork. _The whelp really outdid himself on that one. True pirate's cutlass, it is. Worth a fortune in gold, and he gave it to Matt as a gift. 'Cos he _liked _him._ He always wondered what made non-pirates do such stupid things, like give things away for nothing. _When this old thing of mine gets worn out, I know where I'm going for my next one._

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden bolt of thunder which split his eardrums, the faint scent of smoke and gunpowder. He felt every muscle in his body tense as he searched for the source of the bullet and its destination. A man was standing on the rail, clasping a rope in one hand. He was soaked, evidently having fallen overboard earlier. _We missed him_, Jack realized. _Shit._ A smoking pistol was in his other hand.

Matthew was staring at him, slack-jawed. The young man closed his mouth, blinking in shock. The cutlass in his left hand clattered to the ground. He fell backwards. Jack stared at him for what seemed forever. There was red seeping on the planks beneath him. Yet those moments that seemed eternal lasted less than seconds.

Jack didn't have time to react: his crew was already on it. The sailor was quickly knocked off the rail, disarmed, and hauled over with the rest of the prisoners. Not a word was said. The captain rushed over, and kneeled on the ground next to his fallen crewmember, who seemed to be out cold. He wasted no time on turning the man's body over, looking for the source of the blood. He found it in a matter of moments: his left shoulder, in the back.

_Why isn't anybody saying anything?_ he wondered, looking around. But lips were moving. He couldn't hear them. He shook his head. _Too strange, _he thought. He stood, lifting the body at the same time. "I'm putting him in my cabin," he announced, but his own voice was distant, as if were coming to him from a great distance. More distant voices answered him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He shook his head.

"Who here is a doctor?" the Captain of the _Black Pearl _asked in a surprisingly even tone, looking at each member of the captured crew exactly. His hearing had returned moments later, but he had been temporarily deafened by the gunshot. His eyes trailed lazily from one person to the next. Nobody else moved, but Jack Sparrow strolled casually back and forth. "Well?"

Jack sighed. These men did not believe in making anything easy. Instead, they delighted in complicating things. "I see," he said. "Gibbs?"

"Yessir?" was the obedient reply.

"Choose two of these men, and shoot them."

"Aye, sir."

"_What?!_" demanded a voice. Jack spun to find its source; it was the same man who had shot Matthew.

"Well," he replied, "you won't tell me who here is the doctor. You leave me no choice but to shoot two of you. That way, the doctor among you will be forced to reveal himself or let two of you fine men bleed to death." There was a pause. "Gibbs, who's it going to be?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, but instead a soft, defeated tone was heard from nearby. "I am, sir."

"Ah! Good." A pause. "Release him." When the doctor's bonds were cut, Jack motioned. "Follow me, my good sir."

* * *

Dr. Gregory Haddon was rather amused. He could hear footsteps outside of the room, back and forth. The pirate captain, one Jack Sparrow, had been pacing outside of the door for over an hour, trying not to seem concerned. He might have succeeded, if the doctor, now an old man who had been practicing medicine for forty years, were not so used to the products of nervousness: a tapping foot, tendency to look about aimlessly, the tendency to pace. Yes, Jack Sparrow was a nervous man, though Dr. Haddon doubted that his crew would be smart enough to recognize the signs, and probably thought him merely concerned, or having nothing better to do with his time than wander aimlessly outside of the kid's door. He had wanted to be in the room for surgery, but he had forbidden it. It was probably a good thing. Nervousness might have become shock.

The bullet had gone in the shoulder blade and out the other side with ease. Matthew, then, was fortunate. The bullet otherwise would probably have remained lodged, an uncomfortable proposition. It had broken his collarbone. Fortunately, despite the fact that the shock had knocked him unconscious, he would probably live. If you could call 'him' that.

Standing, he went across the door and opened the door. Jack looked at the doctor expectantly, his expression serious despite a slight smile which curved the corner of his lip. "So," he said, "how's the kid, doc?"

The elderly man looked at him, adjusting his glasses. "Well, he'll be fine. Keep the arm in the sling and bandages I rigged for six weeks, maybe eight to be safe, don't try to movie it, and it should heal fine. However, Mr. Sparrow..."

"Captain," he corrected the doctor, then arched a brow curiously. "However?"

"She's pregnant."

"What?" Confusion was clearly written on the pirate's face. Pregnant? It wasn't possible. In fact, it was physically _im_possible for Matthew to be pregnant.

"'He' is a woman. And _she_ is pregnant." There was a very long pause.

"...That's interesting," Jack said at last.

* * *

**Author's note: **Poor Matthew, revealed at last. This chapter felt a little rushed, but I really want to write the next one. Matt is left handed. I may go back and add that into the chapter where he gets his sword earlier. I dunno. I'm going to go work on chapter eleven now, since I'm probably going to post them at the same time. Chapter eleven is already half done, I wrote it a week or so ago. :P

**Review Responses: **

_Reese Sparrow: _grin I'm glad you like it. And yes, she is definitely pregnant.

_heather321: _Caroline will be explained later. I'm glad you liked it otherwise though.


	12. 11: Memory

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 11. Memory  
Summary: Matthew's memory returns. Jack attempts to comfort a disturbed (massive understatement) Miriam.  
Timeline: Wednesday, May 25, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

Matthew opened his eyes slowly, to find himself propped up in an alien bed. He recognized the room as the Captain's cabin. How had he gotten there? Pain was shooting up his arm, but for the moment he ignored it, searching his memory. _The raid_, he thought. He could vaguely recall cannon-fire, and the clash of swords, pistols, smoke. He remembered a sudden, sharp pain in his back and shoulder, and a swift, dizzying sensation... then darkness, and nothing more.

Someone nearby coughed.

"Jack," Matthew said. He was in an armchair near the bed, obviously dragged from the other side of the room. He was holding a glass of rum, and he peered curiously at the figure in his bed.

"Matthew," Jack responded, turning his gaze back to the glass in his hand, gently swirling its contents. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright, I guess."

"That's good." The other's man's tone was nonchalant, as if he truly didn't care whether or not Matthew was alright. Neither said anything for several minutes, and the silence was tense, almost nervous. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"Matthew," Jack drawled, turning the name over on his tongue, as if considering it, "what's your name?"

Matthew looked down, trying to avert his gaze from the piercing stare of his captain. He noticed then that his shirt was not buttoned, or truly on at all, instead draped over his shoulders. The curves of a woman's breasts were made obvious by its open front. He swallowed hard. Jack's hand caught his chin, and he found himself looking into dark, kohl-lined eyes.

Jack couldn't explain the feeling that seethed within him. He'd grown to like the curious young man who'd mysteriously appeared out of the ocean, grown to respect, even trust, him. To have that trust betrayed--he gritted his teeth. Anger would not get the better of him.

"Well?" he pressed.

Matthew met his gaze evenly, and drew himself up proudly, squared his shoulders. "Technically? It's Miriam Sharp."

"I see."

"Is that all?"

"No. The doctor gave me a message, he said I should pass it on to you. He said it is unhealthy for a woman in your condition to bind yourself such as you had been doing. It may harm the child."

He stared at him, eyes growing wide with shock. "A woman in my condition... may harm the... child?" he echoed, staring at the alien man who sat next to him. He searched his eyes for the spark he knew would swiftly be followed by a grin, but instead was met by a gaze that somehow managed to be both cold and smoldering. Jack glared at him, and Matthew felt his skin crawl. He knew what the other was thinking: here is a wanton strumpet who got herself pregnant, a loose woman, a common wench, worth nothing but the price one paid for an hour of her time and the pleasures she gave in those moments. She wanted to explain away his condemning glares, his accusations. Pregnant? It wasn't possible, it didn't happen, it was a dream.

Jack stared at her, saw the look in her eyes which screamed for pity, for an explanation, for something or anything. Her eyes darted wildly, staring at him and then at the wall behind his head, flickering from floor to ceiling, as if the answer could be found in the woodwork of the room. A thousand words were stumbling out of her mouth, but she spoke more to herself than to him. "No," she mumbled through lips which barely parted, "it was a dream. It never happened. It couldn't have happened."

She stared at her hands, at the bruises on her wrist that were once so vivid, shocking in their cruel shades of blue and purple; now they were faded yellow, giving her skin an almost greenish tint. She pressed her callused hand to her throat, feeling the marks that she remembered there, and prodded breasts whose wounds Jack had never seen. For a second, her eyes again met his, and he saw in them terror beyond anything he had known. Yet her gaze pierced his flesh, seemed centered on some invisible point immediately behind him.

He could not hear her screams, did not see the hands which groped cruelly at her flesh. To him, the axe that tore at her gut was invisible, as were the leering faces and wicked grins that devoured her heart. The sword that twisted in her stomach was not there. He did not smell the stench of blood, sweat and semen, rotting fish and cheap beer, the disgusting odor of sex, pain and death. But in her eyes, it became glaringly obvious, in the painful expression of shock and repulsion which was writ upon her face; he could read the word she could not speak.

Jack stood, and slowly he sat down on the bed beside the girl--the woman, truly--who could not see anything but the demons that ravaged her. Carefully, he reached an arm out, gently pulled her towards him. It was awkward. Jack was devilishly charming, but hysterical, sobbing rape victims were not his forte. He doubted that she wanted to be comforted in the ways he best knew. She was, however, dough in his hands, her small frame falling easily against his. He held her, as tenderly as he could, but felt her flinch beneath his touch, her body torn between the moment and the horrific memory.

Matthew was confused. He was being held down, restrained--he could not move or breathe. He struggled, tried to lash out at the force that contained him. There was no space, no place to move, no way to disentangle himself from his assailant, and his body would not respond to his commands. His arm seemed frozen in place, the other useless. And he was crying. Why was he crying?

"Calm down, Matt," a voice said gently, so distant it could barely be heard, "stop fighting me. I'm not trying to hurt you."

Miriam stopped. Her head was spinning. She felt crushed against this other body, trapped by arms meant to comfort. She wanted nothing more than to push him away, he was smothering her. Jack didn't want to hurt her, but she kept _fighting _him. He held her against his chest, praying silently that she would come to her senses and see that he was trying to help her.

Her breath was ragged and desperate. She gasped for air, but somehow the oxygen seemed a poisonous fume to her lungs. She was suffocating on the scent of salt and rum, a thick and masculine odor of musk and spice, both strikingly familiar and enticingly exotic. It was not the same fishy, putrid stench as before, it was not accompanied by the same frenzied, groping hands and the tearing, aching pain of--

No, this was different, and it stirred in her some feeling of comfort, of safety, and she did not know why, nor did she know why she was so desperate to resist it. The world, in that instant, spiraled into focus. She felt the arms that encircled her, and did not fear them. She recognized the hand that was pressed against her back, and did not flinch away from it. Jack's voice at last reached her through the haze, and it begged her not to fight, to believe him as he told her he would not hurt her. She did believe him.

She gave herself up at last, buried herself in the safety he offered her. She breathed him in, abandoned herself to bitter tears and regret. Jack pressed his lips to her hair; he didn't know why, he was just trying to offer some comfort or solace to ease her pain, some assurance that she was not entirely alone. She shivered, wanting to wrap her weakened body in his skin, as if it might hide her from the memories. She might have liked to dash herself to pieces against him, the same way a ship was dashed to pieces against cliffs in a storm, or crumble to dust beneath his fingers, for both seemed to her deaths which would satisfy the agony that gnawed at her very bones.

It had been too long, eight years, since a man had seen and touched her as a woman. She did not remember the emotions it evoked in her heart, or the heat of the desires that both sickened and intrigued her. _How can I feel safe in this man's arms? _she asked herself, _How can I want him to hold me? Why am I not disgusted or afraid? What is this ache I feel? Desire? Lust? How can I want _that_, of all things, or any of this?_

In her mind, she screamed for her release, but she begged him not to let her go. She was disoriented, her heart filled with fear and need and revulsion. She wanted to rationalize what she felt, but she was too exhausted. All she was capable of doing was crying, though parts of her cursed her weakness. Despite whatever conflicts raged within her, he held her still, clutched her to him as if she would fall and shatter into a thousand fragments of glass if he freed her.

Neither knew how long they remained there, neither cared. Silently, Jack was praying for the door to be locked. There was no way to explain away how Matthew had become 'Miriam', and for himself, he didn't want to be seen as the gentle, comforting type. But pity for this creature had moved him, and every part of him had screamed that he could not leave her to grieve alone as she had been doing. He had offered what he could: a chest to cry into. She had, after a time, accepted it. The front of his shirt was soaked, and still her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. _Will she never stop crying?_ he wondered, but decided it was a stupid to question. _She's got the right._

When she was too tired to cry anymore, when all her tears were spent and her eyes were dry and red-rimmed, she released him. She did not push him away, because she had not the strength, but her arm fell to her side and she leaned into him and said nothing. She sat motionless in his arms, and when he felt assured that she was calm, he let her go.

Her skin, normally so tan, was as white as a sheet and her eyes were electric blue and puffy, red veins shooting through them like lightning. Her lower lip trembled threateningly. Jack Sparrow had never seen a woman who looked so exhausted, so defeated. He felt the desire to seize her again, to hold her and assure her that she would be alright, but knew such actions would be unappreciated.

"Jack," she said weakly, her voice distant and hoarse. It scratched pathetically on his eardrums. He shook his head to silence her, and gently pressed her down into the bed. When she submitted and laid down, he put the covers over her, tucking them neatly around her. "I'm not weak," she informed him, but her tone indicated the opposite.

"Of course you aren't," he said generously, a slight smile on his lips. Physically, she was a wreck, and emotionally, the same. But Jack Sparrow had never met a woman before who had survived in the face of what this one had endured. She had not cried herself to death, and so he knew she would live. He didn't know what else to say to her, so he just pressed his palm to her forehead. She was burning up, but the fever would cleanse her.

"Don't do that," she told him irritably.

"Matthew," he admonished, and he thought he saw her smile faintly at that name. Even if this woman wasn't really exactly what he'd thought, she was still Matthew, wasn't she? She could not be such a great actor that she could entirely pretend... Some of Matthew was in her, or some of her in Matthew, or something. He clung to that hope, because he needed to believe that he could rebuild the same trust. He didn't know it, but she held to the same hopes. "Go to sleep," he whispered, and she closed her eyes. Only moments later, her shallow breath slowed and deepened, and her taunt muscles went lax.

Jack stood, and he locked the door. _Lucky,_ he told himself, and then placed himself in front of his desk. Blankly, he looked at the wall. _Now what do I do with her?_

_

* * *

_

**Author's note: **Poor Matthew. I don't know what else to say, except "poor Miriam". I'm really tired though, so I'm going to post this and go to sleep. I'll reply to the reviews on chapter nine later, maybe. I'm so tired now. If I don't get around to it, know that I love you for reviewing, and everyone else who's reviewed: I love you too. Goodnight.

**Review Responses:**

_DaydreamBeliever14: _More's on the way! I'm very glad you enjoyed the new chapters! It's so cool to have dedicated readers like you and everyone else who's been reviewing. Thank you so much for your feedback!

_Reese Sparrow: _I know. I feel sorry for him/her too. I almost feel guilty for writing the story this way with her so messed up.

_pingpong5: _Yes, but who says everybody else had to know? grin The reactions of everyone else may come much later. Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoy the story.


	13. 12: At Fault

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13 / R due to description of rape, see warning below  
Chapter Title: 12. At Fault  
Summary: Miriam tells Jack about what happened aboard the _Cain_.  
Timeline: Wednesday, May 25, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

**Warning: **There is a slightly graphic description of rape in this chapter. If you don't want to read it, skip over the section in italics.

* * *

The pistol was on his desk. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands. It was a beautiful pistol, almost as nice as his, with dark stained and embossed wood and silver inlay. It was a flintlock with a single barrel, potentially German in origin, probably worth six guineas, maybe seven. Matthew needed a pistol anyway. He corrected himself. Miriam.

He wondered if that was her real name, or just another that she offered. _Miriam Sharp_. Turning his head, he looked at her. She was asleep, and looked much more peaceful than she had earlier. Some of the colour had returned to her face, and Jack thought she almost looked pretty. It had been a shock to him, but now when he looked at her, he wondered how anyone had ever been fooled. Yet the crew was none the wiser; none suspected that Matthew might be a woman. Jack would never had thought it, but now he recognized the delicate nature of her features, the subtle fullness of her lips, the unnatural grace with which she moved.

_She seems so familiar,_ he thought, trying to think where he might have seen her before. If he had, the memories were blurred beyond recognition. She had claimed the story of her past was mostly true, and he had believed her. Perhaps it was. Matthew had not once referred to himself as the son of his parents. She was obviously experienced as a pirate, though she had been brutalized in the recent past.

Pregnant. What was the girl supposed to do with a baby created by such horrible circumstances? It wouldn't surprise him if she opted to try and get rid of the child, and he wouldn't blame her. Among the civilized gentry, abortion was considered sick and wrong, but what did they know?

Miriam awoke several hours later in Jack's bed. Jack himself was slumped over his desk, pistol still in his hand. She might have been worried, but she could see the way his shoulders moved with his breath. His face was obscured by his hair, though for once his hat rested next to him instead of atop his head. She groaned inwardly, remembering what had happened before. Pregnant. _What am I supposed to do with a baby?_ she asked herself. She wanted to gag at the memory.

_I was raped,_ she said to herself experimentally. She felt numb. She had cried until she'd thought her lungs would burst, until she had no tears of self-pity left. The memory had returned now. The defiant screams still rung in her ears, as did the jeers and shouts of her assailants, and the many ways in which she had been repeatedly violated. Yes, she could remember now, and all she wished for was to forget.

Her various attempts to prop herself up with her one arm failed. Her left arm was rigged in a sling across her stomach, and she could feel the bandages which encased her shoulder and chest. The shirt which had previously been draped over her was now twisted around her waist.

She supposed if she were a woman of more dignity she would be ashamed to be shirtless beneath the covers, with Jack Sparrow asleep on his desk across the room. However, she saw very little need to be modest. Once, when she had gone by the name Raven, she had been heralded as one of the most beautiful women in Tortuga. Things were changed now. Men would not desire her battered body, her swollen breasts, bruised hips and thighs. She had become ugly.

Jack stirred. With a groan, he sat up, looked around dazedly. Miriam forced a half smile, staring at the ceiling. Though she did not meet his eyes, she could feel him looking at her. She willed him to come over to where she lay, in hopes that he would help her to sit up. She heard his footsteps, and he sat again in the chair near the bed.

"You're awake," he said helpfully. She nodded up at him, tried again to sit up. Without a single word needed, he slipped an arm under her back and pushed her upwards. She clutched the blanket to her chest while he rearranged the pillows into a form that would support her as she leaned back on them. He was holding a pistol, and she wondered at its origins. He put it in her lap. "Yours," he informed her.

"What?" He could see the surprise written on her face. He didn't smile, just shrugged his shoulders.

"You got shot with it. That makes it yours."

"Oh."

She looked at it, but feared to handle it, lest she lose hold on the cover she covered herself with. Despite being sure of her undesirable nature, she had no intention of uncovering her nakedness for him to see. Understanding her position, he lifted the pistol again, turned it over for her to examine it in its entirety. When she nodded in an indication that her inspection of the weapon was complete, her put it on a table within arm's reach. She looked at him, brows furrowed slightly. Jack looked almost sad, disappointed somehow.

Miriam herself was depressed. She was waiting for him to tell her that they would be going back to Tortuga, where she would be unloaded and left to fend for herself. She tried to remember how long it had been since Jack had announced that she was welcome aboard his ship as a permanent crew member. Three weeks. She had begun to feel almost a friendship with the pirate captain, which now seemed quite likely shattered and beyond repair. He wouldn't trust her anymore, was probably angry at himself for trusting her to begin with.

He interrupted her thoughts by saying her name. Not her name, she corrected herself in her thoughts. He had said 'Matthew'.

"Why do you still call me that?" she asked with a sharp edge to her voice.

"Need to believe you're him, I guess. I have to admit, I admire a person who's willing to do whatever's necessary, but I trusted you, and now..."

"Now you don't," she finished for him.

"No, I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that now I'm not sure."

"Oh."

"I trusted you, and now I've found out that you were lying to me... except, you had a reason. It's hard to hold it against you, much as I'd like to." Jack was unusually sober. His dark eyes were averted, and he wouldn't look at her directly. He seemed confused, as if he were trying to sort out his own thoughts. He was. He couldn't decide what to think. All he knew was that he needed to know what had happened to her, and he hoped that knowing might help him figure his course of action.

"Would you rather I called you Miriam? Or perhaps by another name?"

"No. I... I prefer Matthew."

"That's what I was expecting." There was a slight pause. "Matthew," Jack said, looking directly at the young woman before him, "I need you to tell me what happened, aboard the _Cain_." She stared at him. Why? _Why does he need to know?_ It wasn't his business what had happened to her aboard that ship, what they had done to her. "Please. I know it's hard for you."

"I fail to see why it's your business."

"I'll explain, but first you need to tell me."

"No."

"Matthew, please."

"Why, Jack?" she said, forcing a chill into her voice, "So you can revel in the details of my assault, so you can see how weak I am under the bandages?"

"That's not it at all," he countered.

"Then why is it, Jack? Why do you even care? Either you trust me, or you don't. What happened to me has nothing to do with you."

He shook his head, "It doesn't have anything to do with me, you're right. But can you honestly tell me you want to carry it alone?" She opened her mouth, but he held up her hand. "Don't tell me you do, because you'll be lying. Nobody can carry that alone. Everyone has to tell someone, because if they don't, it will eat them alive. Now you can tell me, or you can't. But if you don't, you can't tell anyone else; there isn't anyone else to try."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. As much as she wanted not to, she trusted him, and as much as Bootstrap had told her not to, it couldn't be helped now. She heaved a heavy sigh. "You'll not repeat this to anyone?"

"You have my word that I won't."

"Fine."

* * *

_I joined the Cain, it would have been two months ago now. I was using the name Anthony Felton at the time. I've had a different name for every ship I've been on, and I've lost count by now. Thomas Williams aboard the Vicious Melissa, my first pirate ship, Charles Griffin aboard Satan's Hangman, Michael Blaine on another, and Richard Scott. Some of the names have reasons behind them, others I chose on a whim. Thomas Williams was for my father, Thomas Sharp, and another man by the name of William that I looked up to. Yes, this is a tangent. Pardon me for not wanting to think of those unpleasant memories._

_I'd been with the ship over two months when we stopped in Vera Cruz. I was disgusted with them. They had to pick up a new helmsman, to replace the one they'd relieved of his hand and fed to the sharks. I was ready to leave then and their, but opted to wait until we got to __Tortuga__, our next destination. Then I could spend some time at home until I found a good ship. It was a bad idea._

_The new helmsman soon caught on to the nature of the Cain's crew, and figured the best way to get in to them would be to prove his strength, probably by getting in to a fight with one of the current crewmembers and winning. Being a coward, he picked the smallest and therefore, by his estimation, weakest: me._

_He insulted my manhood. Funny, in retrospect. Seeing his purpose, I pretended to be outraged. I knew what as coming, and figured it best to get it over with as soon as possible. It was another bad idea. A space was cleared for us to fight on the deck. Most ships will only allow a duel to take place on land, but the crew of the Cain was never noted for its intelligence. We fought. It was supposed to be an unarmed duel, but he pulled a knife, cried to cut me with it. I avoided it, for the most part, but it cut down the front of my shirt, and severed the bandages I use to hide my feminine attributes. The cut wasn't too deep, but you can still see it. I'm not going to show it to you, but it runs right between my breasts, from my sternum to my last rib._

_I was revealed. The captain, upon seeing me uncovered, rushed forward. He grabbed my wrist, held me tightly. It hurt, I told him to let me go. He said, "Here's a pretty little thing, boys. Looks like Anthony has some benefits we have yet to take advantage of. The sight of female flesh just set them off. They threw insults at me. I threatened them right back, but it was no use._

_They threw me down right there. Two or three of them held me down while the other tore off my clothes. It hurt, they were holding my wrists and my ankles so tightly. I remember, the captain, he said... he said it was his turn, first. He pulled down his breeches, and I shut my eyes. I felt cold hands between my thighs, pushing them apart--do I have to go on? They all got their turn, some more than once. Those who weren't directly on top of me would fondle my breasts or trail knives through my flesh. I screamed, and kept screaming. Other men might have covered my mouth, but they enjoyed it._

_When I finally dared to open my eyes, I was in the brig. They'd thrown my clothes in there with me. They only set one man to guard me. They were fools. Still naked, I encouraged him to rape me again. I asked him if he'd even had a turn at all, implied that he was too weak to deserve my battered flesh. He took the bait, hook line and sinker. He came in. Against twenty, I had no chance. Against one, I knew I would win. I easily knocked him unconscious and stole his shirt. I managed to salvage some of the bandages I'd used before, and used torn lengths of my own shirt to rig new bandages. After tying myself in, I put on his boots, breeches and hat._

_When I went up on deck, none were there. They were all in the mess, probably sleeping off the drunken stupor they'd gotten themselves into after they'd raped me. I didn't want to live anymore. I'd been ravished, violated. My head was pounding, and I could feel a huge lump on the back of it. I stood on the rail, and then I just let myself fall. At first I thought I was drowning, and I wanted to drown. But I surfaced. There was some driftwood, I don't know where from. I grabbed hold of it, and I must have fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness._

_

* * *

_"There you have it," she said, staring at the wall in front of her. When she dared to look back to him, he was staring at the ground.

"I'm sorry for making you say all that," he said.

"You're not."

"Alright, then I'm sorry for what happened to you."

"Don't be. It was my fault."

"It wasn't." She was surprised by the forcefulness of his tone. She looked at him, eyes wide. "Don't you _dare_ blame it on yourself. What they did to you was _not_ your fault. They did it because they were sick, perverted, twisted men, not because of anything you did."

She paused. "Thanks," she said, "I needed to hear that."

Jack didn't know what to say in response, or at all anymore. Words have been coming to him before, things he knew he should say, things that needed to be said. And though it surprised him, he had not said them because he felt he should, but because he believed every word. But then he ran out of words.

He knew he should probably go to Tortuga, and drop her off, and pick up a new crewmember. But Matthew had more than proved himself, although now that she was pregnant and with a broken shoulder and collarbone, he would be unable to help out, he'd earned his place. Her place. Whichever. In any case, she deserved better than to be unceremoniously dumped in Tortuga, alone.

"... I guess my days aboard the _Pearl_ are numbered, aren't they, Captain?" she asked at last, a fearful tone in her voice.

"Why?"

"Because... because I lied to you... and if not because of that, because I pregnant and useless to you without my left arm."

"You said you'd stay as long as I'd have you, didn't you?" Jack asked her, and she nodded. "Well, I haven't given you your walking papers, so you're here to stay."

"... Why?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I'm not just leaving you in Tortuga, or anyplace else for that matter."

"Are you going to tell the crew?"

"No."

"Thank you."

"It's a captain's job to look out for his crew," he informed her. He was going back into 'captain' mode. "I'm going to go look for some clothes you can wear over your arm that'll hide you. Take some more rest, it'll do you good." He stood, turned and went to the door. He left, locking it behind him. _To keep the crew out, or me in, I don't know which._

"You're a good man, Jack. Bootstrap was right about that, among other things," Miriam said to the door, letting her head relax and closing her eyes.

* * *

**Author's note: **So that's what happened. Don't think Miriam's done facing it yet though: the road to recovery will probably be a long one. Don't know what else to say about it.

Update: I edited this chapter a bit. I'll probably be editing some of the ones after this one, too, because I've thought of some new ideas. However, I probably will not edit the rape description, because when I read it over, I found that it seriously creeped (crept?) me out. I can't go through and "fix" things.

**Review Responses: **

_pingpong5: _I know. This chapter depressed me, too. I reread it once, and I was seriously disturbed. I wish I knew what was going to happen next!

_Lady Laffs-a-Lot: _Ah, yes, the infamous plot hole. However, I have yet to decide if Bootstrap will be dead or alive in this story. Even if he didn't drown, it's possible that someone killed him after the curse ended. Remember, this story takes place a year after PotC: the Curse of the Black Pearl, so he may really be dead. And whether or not he is dead or alive, neither Matthew nor Jack have any idea, or they do. Their idea is that he's dead.


	14. 13: Evasion

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 13. Evasion  
Summary: Matthew avoids Jack, and the latter comes up with a plan.  
Timeline: Wednesday, June 1, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

_He is avoiding me,_ Jack said to himself, _or she is. I still don't know what to call him... her... it._ It was nearing a week since Matthew had cried into his chest, told him the story of her rape, thanked him for lending her his coat, and left his cabin. She had said, "The crew will think it suspicious if I no longer sleep in the mess." He had agreed with her, but understood now that he was being avoided.

That had been their last actual conversation. He had tried to talk to her, but all his attempts were met with short, curt replies. "Sorry, sir. Cotton needs help with the rigging," or "Gibbs asked me to take inventory," or a myriad of other chores or excuses to remove himself (herself, itself) from his company. Despite having a broken shoulder and collarbone, Matthew has determined to be useful, to prove that she was not simply dead weight the _Pearl_ was forced to carry.

He saw her on the quarterdeck, on the opposite side of the ship. She was holding a bucket for Marty with her one hand, while the shorter man was trying to fix a broken swab, the shaft of which had broken in two. He had managed to salvage her disguise by having her wear his coat. It effectively hid her feminine figure, and served the dual purpose of making it absolutely impossible for her to move her left arm that was beneath the buttoned covering. The second reason was the one which was given to the crew, and they accepted it readily enough. She cut a rather humourous figure, the jacket being much too large, and the left sleeve was always left to dangle emptily at her side.

Marty eventually gave up on his attempts to fix the mop. In fact, the shortened shaft was far more in proportion to his stature. He said something to Matthew, who set the pail down, and walked away, Jack assumed to find some other menial task to carry out. He watched her disappear below decks, and sighed, preparing to follow her and make another likely-to-fail attempt at conversation.

"Matthew," Jack said. She was taking inventory, again.

"Sorry, sir," she began, her usual introduction to one of her many excuses for why she couldn't talk to them at that precise moment. Over the past week, he had lost count of the number of times she had said that particular phrase, though occasionally, 'sir' was substituted for 'captain'. "I'm in the middle of--"

"Avoiding me, I've noticed," he cut her off. Reaching into a barrel, he pulled out a green apple and took a bite out of it. He wanted to grin as he noticed her make a small tick next to something on the piece of paper that was the inventory.

She looked up from the paper and arched her slender brows. "I've no idea what would give you that impression, sir."

"How about the fact that every time I attempt to talk to you, you conveniently are in the middle of something, or about to do something else?" He bit into his apple again, looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry, sir," she said again, and he felt he was going to slap her if she said it one more time, "but I've been very busy, as you remarked. I've been trying to be useful, I don't want anyone to think me a burden."

"I don't think you're a burden, Matthew," Jack said, stepping toward her, "I think you have a broken arm, I think you're--" he was about to say _pregnant_, but she looked at him pleadingly, and he swiftly amended the statement, "you're in need of rest." He paused, "and I know for a fact that you are avoiding me, and I order you, as your captain, to explain why." He continue to walk slowly in her direction, and he noticed how she edged away with small steps.

Miriam jumped as she backed into the wall. Jack was still walking toward her, making her nervous. She clutched at the pen in her hand. "Jack, what are you doing?" she asked, and he looked at her inquisitively, taking another step, another bite from the apple. Her brows furrowed. He put the apple down on a table as he walked past it, and shortened the gap between them to mere inches.

"Answer the question, Matthew."

"I'm-not-avoiding-you," she said quickly, her words slurred together. She tried to push herself into the wall. He was invading her space all of a sudden, probably because she was a bad liar and they both knew it, and he was trying to get the truth out of her. The truth was that she was avoiding him because every time she looked at him she remembered that she'd been raped, and how she had cried into his chest for she-didn't-know-how-long, and he knew who and what she was, and that she was weak and fragile and she didn't want to be reminded of everything that had happened to her, and how fragile she felt, and this man was very confusing, and she had suddenly realized how right Bootstrap was after all, and that she should avoid him because he was trouble for sure and--

"Liar," he said. She tried to shuffle sideways away from him, but he stopped her by leaning forward. He put his hands against the wall on either side of her, trapping her. Her eyes were wide, panicked, and it occurred to him that he was being rather cruel, but he needed and answer that he wasn't going to get by any other means.

"He told me to," she said weakly.

"Who?"

"Nobody. No one. That is, no one important. I don't want to talk about it." Her eyes darted nervously. "Please, don't do that," she said, finally settling to look at him. He didn't move.

"Why's that, love?"

"Jack, stop." Her tone was more forceful, insistent. The pirate did not move, but stood resolutely, trapping her within the cage of his arms.

"No," he said, "not until you tell me what is going on." She shook her head, and there was a clatter as something fell to the ground. Jack looked to her feet, saw the quill that she had dropped, and suddenly heard and felt a loud _crack _as something forcefully connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, and blearily recognized the taste of blood in his mouth. Catching his balance, he touched a hand gently to his cheek before wincing and removing it, then spit out part of a broken tooth. He looked up at her incredulously; the woman had punched him.

She straightened her back, tilting her chin proudly, as if to say, 'I told you not to do that.' He felt that he had probably deserved it. When he met her eyes, she said, "And don't call me 'love', Jack."

He held his hands up in apology. "Sorry, Matt. I'm jus' trying to understand, is all."

"Understand what?"

"Why every time I try to talk to you, you run away."

_Because, Jack, you scare me. Because I want to consider you my friend, but I'm afraid of the implications, because the second that happens you'll die or disappear, or leave me in Tortuga, or something equally horrific. Because you remind me of Bootstrap, and I miss him, and because I want to blame you for his death but I can't anymore. Because every time I look at you I think about what they did to me, and about how you _know_ what they did to me, and that I can't just revel in my pain alone, which is what I'd really rather be doing. Because I actually want to talk to you, which is unusual, and it frightens me. _She said, "Because, Jack..." but couldn't finish the sentence.

He stepped forward again. She thought he was going to hug her, and she pushed him away. "I don't need your pity, Jack. That's why I'm avoiding you, because I don't want your sympathy." She was lying through her teeth again, but managed to put the sharp edge in her voice that gave Jack enough pause to think she might mean it, and he would be hesitant to doubt her after she had decked him one. She almost felt bad. He receded, and she sighed. "I have work I need to do, so if you'll excuse me, Captain." He shook his head, and picked up his apple. He turned and left, and Matthew watched him leave before she bent to pick up her pen..

Above deck, Jack gathered all of the crew, with the exception of Matt, who remained below deck, probably taking inventory for the seventh time.

"I know we just came from Tortuga two weeks ago, but I was thinking we should go back. If we go back, you'll all have a full week's vacation, with only a day's work before we leave port."

The men looked at each other, considering the offer. Usually, they stayed in port only a day, maybe two, and were expected to spend a great deal of that time working on the ship and getting ready for the next voyage. A full week's vacation was a good, long time to spend on land, and would promise to be amusing. Anamaria looked at him.

"Why's this?"

"I have my reasons, mainly being that there're a few things I need to check out there, that I've only just recognized, and it'll probably take me about a week to finish my affairs." She shrugged in response, presumably satisfied with his answer. He looked at each of them in turn. "So, what say you?"

He was met by a rousing chorus of 'aye!', which was good, because it meant he wouldn't have to consult Matthew, who would have been outvoted anyway had she objected, but still. Jack had an idea, and Tortuga was the best spot to carry out his plans.

As he walked away again, Anamaria caught him by the arm. "Cap'n Sparrow?"

"Aye?" he asked, with raised eyebrows.

"Wot 'appened t'yer face?"

He winced, shook his head, and mumbling something about a wall, went to his cabin.

* * *

**Author's note: **So Jack is planning something, and Matthew is intent on avoiding him. (tacky soap opera voice) What nefarious thing is Jack planning to do, and will Matthew reveal the true reasons for her fears? _Dun dun dun....! _I've no idea, meself. 


	15. 14: Raven

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 14. Raven  
Summary: Back in Tortuga, Jack's plan doesn't go entirely according to plan.  
Timeline: Sunday, June 5, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

"Jack, why are we back in Tortuga?"

"Because I want to be back in Tortuga, and as does the rest of the crew."

"With the exception of myself, who wasn't asked."

"You would have been outvoted anyway."

"What're you planning, Jack?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Why would you think I'm planning something?"

Matthew was nervous. Jack had turned the ship around and headed back to Tortuga without giving any real explanation, leaving her certain that he had something up his sleeve. The rest of the crew wouldn't question him, after all, they got a week's vacation, so why complain? It was their second night in Tortuga, and the fact that Jack consistently seemed to be hanging around her was only giving her more reason to be suspicious.

And now he had managed to drag her back into The Faithful Bride. The same offer she'd last made had not worked this time, and in fact, Jack had pulled the opposite ploy on her. He was paying for her drinks. _He's a smart man_, she thought, taking a gulp of rum. The tankard was nearing empty, and she knew she shouldn't drink so much.

"Why's the place make y'so nervous, Matt?" he asked.

"I'm not nervous. Just wary," she countered defensively. He smiled slowly. _Blast him for knowing when he's right._

"Bootstrap an'I used t'come here all the time," Jack informed her, "used t'have the prettiest wenches, but they're all gone now."

"Bootstrap?" she asked, pretending not to know. Miriam knew Bootstrap and Jack used to drink here. She'd always been forbidden to serve them, when Jack was there, because Bootstrap insisted that she stay away from him.

"Aye. Bootstrap Bill Turner. Good man, good pirate. Y'met 'is son, Will Turner, that blacksmith, in Port Royal few weeks back."

"So I did."

"Want another drink?" he asked, noticing that she'd finished hers. She was frustrated, having wanted to hear more about Bootstrap from the man who had known him so well. She shook her head, taking the mug and standing up.

"I'll get it. I'll be back sharply, Cap'n."

It was halfway between the table and the bar that Miriam found herself pinned against the wall. A man had grabbed her painfully by the shoulders, spun her around, and pushed her against the brick. She winced, trying to strike him with the empty tankard, but he seized her wrist, digging nails into her skin. She dropped it and stared at her assailant.

"Roger," she said, her lip curling in distaste, "I wasn't expecting to run into you here." He was disgusting, his face smeared with dirt. His graying hair was greasy and too long, and it stunk of oil and pitch. His breath smelled of fish and cheap ale.

"N'r I ye, Ant'ny," he slurred, and she winced. He had not released her wrist. She offered a pained smile.

"What a coincidence," she commented, "now if you'll release me, I was just on my way to the bar..."

"Nah, I don' th'k I will. M'thinks y'should 'cmp'ny me t'me room." The hand that was not grasping her arm trailed roughly down her side suggestively. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he pushed her body against hers so there was no room to maneuver. "Or we could do it righ' here."

Miriam was beginning to panic. She could feel her heart pounding within her chest, and the sweat on her brow. "Wasn't once enough," she spat, "or were you one of them that took me twice, you bastard?" She could not let him see her fear.

Another voice interjected. "I suggest you leave the boy alone." She recognized it, but in her fear-addled brain she couldn't decide who it belonged to. It almost sounded like Bootstrap, but it couldn't be. Her attacker turned to face the man addressing him, but Miriam still could not move.

"'S no boy," he drawled, "an' why should I?" There was no response to his question, but suddenly he reeled backward, and landed with a crash on the floor. Miriam could see that half of the tavern had turned to watch the skirmish. Jack was standing nearby, his fist clenched and smeared with blood, presumably from the bleeding nose of the man now laid out the floor.

"I said," he began again, walking over to his victim, and placing a booted foot over the man's crotch, slowly applying pressure, "that I would suggest... that you leave the boy _alone_, my good sir." Her assailant squirmed, seemed on the verge of crying out in pain. Captain Sparrow twisted his foot, grinding the man's privates beneath his heel. His prey groaned pathetically. "Don't mess with me crew, mate," he said, more for the benefit of those watching than for the injured party. He turned away, taking Matthew by the arm. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Why the _hell_ did you do that, Jack?" she demanded, turning on him in the street, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"

"It didn't look that way from where I was standing, love. 'Sides, a captain looks after 'is crew." They were standing outside the Faithful Bride now, and Matthew was upset. _Damn_, Jack cursed, _can't the girl just be grateful?_

"I don't need looking after, _Captain_." He started to walk away, firmly holding her wrist. Startled, she stumbled after him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm walking you home. Which way is it?"

"What? No!"

"Don't argue with me. As you just pointed out, I'm your captain, and I'm walking you home. _Which way is it?_" He was losing his temper. He saved her life, and he didn't even get a thank you. Instead, all he got was, 'Why the hell did you do that?' _Because you're my crew, you damn fool woman, and I'm responsible for you._ _And you can't really expect me to believe you can defend yourself with a broken arm when you're pregnant!_

She tried to twist her arm out of his grip, but he wouldn't release her. He simply looked at her, brows arched, waiting for answer. She groaned. "Let me go."

"No. Which way are we going, Matthew?" He wouldn't back down. _Great_, she thought, _he chooses this moment to be a gentleman, and he forces me to go along with it._

"You're just as bad as they are," she hissed, and he turned on her. His dark eyes seemed almost hurt for a moment, but whatever sentiment she thought she had seen was quickly covered by an unreadable expression.

"Excuse me, but I'm looking out for your welfare. I am trying to protect you from people who, like them, would enjoy having their way with you."

"Fine. Go left."

* * *

She fumbled with the key. It was hard to unlock the door with only one hand. Jack was looking at her curiously. "Blasted thing," she muttered, and he took the key from her hand. She started to object, but the door was quickly unlocked and he nudged her inside, stepping in behind her. "Jack Sparrow!" she protested, but he simply closed the door. Neither noticed the light that flickered in the window of the house next door.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, as he took it upon himself to help her out of her coat. He unbuttoned it, pulled it off her shoulders, and threw it on a chair nearby. Beneath it, she was wearing a corset, because it was the only thing he'd been able to find that she could put on and take off without taking her arm out of the sling. It was only loosely tied, since it was employed more as a covering than a waist cincher.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Taking my clothes off?"

"Just the coat." He paused. "Sit down." She didn't know why, but she obeyed. Jack immediately set himself to work about the stove, though she couldn't see what the man was doing. "D'you have any rum?"

"In the cupboard, near the stove."

"Great." A few moments later, he sat next to her, a bottle of her best rum in his hand. She glared at him.

"I'm tired, drunk, in a lot of pain, I've been attacked _and _rescued against my will, and now you're helping yourself to my best rum," she commented, too tired to really do anything about any of the various ailments, "Not to mention the fact that my captain is making himself incredibly unwelcome in my house."

"Y'need t'sleep."

"Shut it, Jack."

"Why're you so angry, Matt?"

She drew a very deep breath, "Because I didn't want to go to the Faithful Bride, but you insisted, so I went along with it. Then someone tried to rape me, which wouldn't have happened if we'd just gone to the Horse and Groom, and you rescued me because you thought I was incapable of defending myself. To top it off, you insult me _even further_ by insisting on walking me home, as if I can't walk on my own two feet, and you invite yourself in to my house without even asking me if it's alright for you to come in, when I've already told you I don't like my shipmates to come here."

He sighed. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked honestly, standing up again, and setting the rum down on a table.

Obviously, she hadn't been expecting that. She looked up at him helplessly. "I don't know," she murmured, "not really." He smiled, held out a hand to her, which she accepted. He pulled her up.

"Where d'you sleep?"

"Upstairs."

"C'mon then."

She didn't know what she wanted. What she really wanted was Bootstrap, because he always knew how to explain the situation in a way that would make sense, so she would make the right decision. He couldn't do that now. _He'd be angry with me right now, he'd tell me to kick this man out of my house, and go to bed. But I don't want to be alone. _The truth was that she was deeply disturbed. Now the crew of the _Cain_ would know that she wasn't dead, and what was worse, they would know that she was most likely somewhere with Jack Sparrow. And that man, Roger, had tried to rape her again.

And now here she was, lying in her bed, with Jack Sparrow sitting on its edge, taking off his boots. _Why?_ He heaved a sigh and looked over his shoulder at her. "Y'mind movin' over, Matthew?"

"What?"

"I said--"

"I meant _why_."

"Oh. So I can lay down, o'course."

_What?_ This was too much. She could possibly forgive him for protecting her when she didn't want to be protected, and maybe even for inviting himself into her home when she didn't want him, but _inviting himself into her _**bed**? Apparently he sensed her discomfort.

"Look, it's late, and I don't want to walk back to the _Pearl_. You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine, we'll both go to sleep, and forget about it in the morning."

"Jack, screw off."

"I'd love to, but unfortunately I can't because I'm here instead of at the bar, where I'm sure a dozen lovely maids are _aching_ for my company," he responded sarcastically.

"You're a rotten scallywag, Jack, and I don't like you."

"We're pirates. Remember." He sighed heavily, "Will you _please_ move over, and let me sleep here tonight, and I swear I'll be nice?" When she didn't respond, he tried again. "I'll give you an extra fourth of a share next raid, an' next time we go drinking _not only_ can you choose the location, but I'll pay. Please?"

It was more the second incentive that spurred her than the first, but she shifted towards the wall. "Thanks," he said, and laid down on his back next to her. The bed groaned softly as it adjusted to his weight. He blew out the candle.

It was dark. Miriam was uncomfortable. She could not remember the last time she had let a man into her bed, and at the time it had been enjoyable. _This_ was not enjoyable. For his part, Jack was trying to figure out why he hadn't just gone back to the _Pearl_. Instead, he had crawled into bed with a woman who obviously wanted nothing to do with him at that particular moment, and he was paying her what could turn out to be a fortune to do so.

"Matthew?" he asked.

"What?" she demanded, and he winced. She was irritated.

"Why are you so upset that I tried to protect you?"

"Because, I can take care of myself, and because... never mind."

"Because what?"

"It's none of your business."

There was a long pause, and then Jack tried again. Somehow conversation, even tense conversation with Matthew who was angry at him, seemed more enjoyable than lying in awkward silence. "Maybe not, but I'd like to know."

"You still owe me, I'm not telling you anything more until you pay off your debt."

"But it wasn't true, so I don't owe you a damned thing."

"I said it was mostly true. I lied about my age, I'm twenty-nine, not twenty-eight, and I lied about my mother wanting me to go into business. She wanted me to learn to sew and cook and do girl things. And I left out some details, but other than that, yes, it was true, so you still owe me."

"Oh."

There was silence again, and Jack resigned himself to thinking about girls he'd rather be in bed with. Twelve years ago, there had been this beautiful girl at the Faithful Bride, a barmaid. He'd always wanted to talk to her, but Bootstrap had always told him off her. She'd been gorgeous, with subtle black curls, as dark as a raven's wing, slim shoulders and a slender frame. Her skin had held that perfect golden tan from hours in the sun, and her pale eyes had always sparkled as if she were laughing at something.

He'd seen her sometimes, standing on the pier by the _Black Pearl_, watching it sail away. Never had he been able to discover what she did there. He'd asked Bootstrap, who had merely told her, "She has business there." But it was well known that she didn't sell her body. She was potentially the most lovely girl in all Tortuga, and the most unattainable. No man was known who had tasted a kiss from her perfect lips.

She'd been called Raven. She'd disappeared nine years ago, no one knew where she'd gone. Some had said that Bootstrap had faked his death and they had run off together. Jack chuckled at the thought. Bootstrap had known the girl well enough, but wouldn't let Jack near her.

"_I'm gonna go talk to her," he said, starting to stand up. Bootstrap grabbed his arm, pulled him back down. "Hey, what?"_

_"Not that 'un, mate. She's special," his companion told him, his hazel eyes gleaming as he watched her. Jack twisted his head to look at her, but Bootstrap spoke again, distracting his attention. "'Sides, a raven'll kill a sparrow, given half a chance."_

_"Oh, come off it, Bootstrap."_

_"I'm dead serious. And if she doesn't, I will."_

_"What do you have to do with her, anyway?"_

_"S'got nothin' to do with you, Sparrow." Jack knew when he was beat. Bootstrap wouldn't talk._

"Raven," he muttered the girl's name into the darkness, staring at the ceiling. He was met by a response he didn't expect.

"What do you want _now_, Sparrow?" the woman at his side demanded with a groan. There was a sudden pause, and she added, "How do you know that name?"

"What?" he asked her, confused. What did Miriam Sharp have to do with the young and beautiful barmaid in the Faithful Bride who had vanished? And why _shouldn't_ he know that name? Why had she responded as if he'd said _her_ name?

"Crap," was the only response he received. _Unless..._

"You're that barmaid from the Faithful Bride, aren't you?" he asked her, and was met only by a grunt that sounded vaguely like 'go to sleep'. But he wasn't willing to let it go. "Miriam?" he insisted

"Don't call me that."

"Aren't you?" he asked again. He turned his head and looked at her. She was staring resolutely at the ceiling.

"Yes, alright. I was, or am, or whatever. Raven Sparks. Mysteriously vanished nine years ago, no one knows what happened to her. Some say she was murdered or kidnapped because of her stunning beauty. Others say she and Bootstrap Bill Turner ran away together after he faked his own death," here she paused, her voice seeming almost sad. "Truth is, she cut off her hair, called herself Thomas Williams, and become a pirate, later known as Matthew Brown. There you go. Now shut up, and go to sleep."

"Bootstrap. You knew him, didn't you?"

"Aye. Who cares?"

"I do."

"I don't."

"Matthew, come on."

"What?"

Jack sighed heavily. _Christ_, he thought, _this I was not expecting_. And yet, it was an opportune moment, in a way. If he could get her to talk, maybe he'd be able to find out what was so 'special' about her, that Bootstrap wouldn't let him near her.

"Fine," she said.

* * *

Bootstrap Bill Turner, or William Turner, grew up in London, from what I understand. He was the son of one of my father's older friends. He spent a lot of the time with the family, though he was thirteen years older than I was. He actually met his future wife, Mary, at my parents' wedding. They were married nine years later, I was eight at the time. They had a son, William, who I used to play with. When both our fathers were out pretending to be merchant marines, our mothers would get together. I grew up with young Will Turner. When I was older, I would sometimes watch him for his mother.

Bootstrap sailed with us to the Caribbean after my mother died. My father wouldn't spend very much time with me during the voyage, probably because I reminded him to much of her. We looked very much alike. Instead of my father comforting me, it was usually Bootstrap. He started to call me Raven, because my hair was so dark and my skin so pale, at the time. He was an older brother, in many ways.

I'd always thought that he and my father sailed together, but he later revealed to me that he actually sailed aboard the _Black Pearl_, and that my father and he always pretended to sail on the same ship because it was convenient. After my father died, Bootstrap came in where he left off. Even though he was gone a lot, when he was around, we'd go sailing. He helped me find a job in the Faithful Bride, so long as I promised not to use my real name.

I decided to use Raven Sparks as my new name. Bootstrap approved of the choice. He used to defend me from the patrons who didn't know the meaning of "look but don't touch". I'd sit and have a drink or two with him, as long as you weren't there. He told me I couldn't serve him when he was with you, and that I should stay away from you, because even though you were a good man, you'd get me in trouble. So I did.

Whenever he went away, I would stand on the pier and watch the ship leave. It was my way of saying goodbye, though usually we didn't talk. I would just stand and watch, and you would sail away, and disappear over the horizon, and then I would go home.

When I was eighteen, you got the brilliant idea to go after the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. That time, Bootstrap and I walked together to the pier, and I cried and he tried to comfort me. He said he'd be back, not to worry. I gave him a pair of gold earrings, because they're supposed to keep the wearer from drowning. Apparently it didn't work. He never came back.

For a year, I waited for his return. He never came. One night, when I was serving a group of men in the Faithful Bride, they talked about the _Pearl_. It was then that I learned that your crew had mutinied, and Bootstrap had been murdered. For ten years, I blamed you. I hated you for killing him, for dragging him with you to his death.

I don't blame you anymore. It was Barbossa who killed the man who became my second father. I stopped blaming you when you rescued me from the ocean, because--

* * *

Looking over, she saw that Jack had fallen asleep. She sighed. _Drunken idiot,_ she thought. She pushed herself as close to the wall, and as far away from Jack, as she possibly could. _Blast it all._ In reality, Jack wasn't asleep, but it suited his purposes to appear that way, because she would never be sure when he had fallen asleep or how much he had heard. When he was sure she had fallen asleep herself, he allowed himself to drift off.

* * *

**Author's note: **I'm sorry I haven't responded to any reviews, won't let me see them. I really have to do my history homework now. Hope you enjoy the new chapter. It has one of the most common JackGirl clichés in it (the bedsharing bit) but I wanted it, so there. :P

**Review Responses: **

_ChocolateEclar: _You are _far_ too nice to me! You really think I'm so brilliant that I've captures all the characters so well? Most of the crew is un(der)developed. I've only mentioned Quartetto, Anamaria, Gibbs and Marty by name, and then I haven't said much about them. Will and Elizabeth are amusing, I'll admit, but I haven't said much about Elizabeth. I really ought to write some more about them. I'm glad you think I've done such a great job with Jack; I'm very proud of my portrayal of him, even if I think some of the other characters require more work. I'm also very happy you like Matthew; I adore him... her... whatever. I'll update as soon as I can, chapter fifteen is giving me some trouble. Thank you _so_ much for your review!

_TheCap'nOfTheBlackPearl: _I'm glad you like it! I will continue, I promise!

_pingpong5: _Ah yes. Raven, once hailed as the most beautiful girl in Tortuga. Disappeared, and for the most part forgotten. Apparently Jack remembers though!

_heather321: _I'm working on it!

Thank you EVERYBODY for all your wonderful reviews. It really means a lot to know that my story is appreciated. The new chapter will be up as soon as I can get it to make sense. I'm thinking about posting an interlude while I work on what will be chapter 15.


	16. 15: Connected

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 15. Connected  
Summary: Bootstrap and Raven.  
Timeline: Flashback, approximately fourteen years previous.  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

"Raven?" he asked gently, sitting down next to her. Her head was turned away from him, and he could not see her face. As he touched her shoulder, she flinched away from his hand. "Please, darling," he breathed, "don't do this."

"Leave me alone, Bill," she muttered, still not facing him. She was a young girl, only fifteen, though the day of her birth was soon approaching. Sixteen somehow seemed much older to him, and he wished she would stay a child forever, not have to grow old and lose the innocence that so endeared her to him. The dark curls that were the source of his name for her fell about her slumped shoulders in disarray. He knew she had been crying, and he could hear the edge of her tears in the hoarseness of her voice.

"Bill? What happened to Bootstrap?" It had been years since she had called him Bill, and it almost hurt to be pushed away so coldly by the young girl. But he would not leave. More and more she'd been doing this, hiding her face from him, refusing to speak. It frightened him. He knew something was wrong, and this girl, so much younger than he was, had become a sister or daughter, somehow connected to him. He knew he must protect her, but wished he could know from _what_.

Surely, he had not... but he had to be sure. He reached a hand through the veil of her hair, taking her chin a forcing her to face him. Her skin was not so pale is it had been when first she had come to this place, for now it was made bronze by the sun's rays. It was not the golden hues of her skin that alarmed him, but the purple bruise which flowered on her perfect cheek. She lowered her eyes in shame.

"Did Tom do that to you, darling?" he whispered, and she tried to turn away. "Don't look away, please don't. Sweetheart, did he hit you?" Bootstrap begged, and if it were possible, her shoulders bowed further. Her eyes were moist from tears previously shed, or perhaps from those she had not yet given. Weakly, she nodded, and he felt every muscle in his body tense. That man, who had once loved his beautiful daughter so much and so well, who had been so tender and careful, whose eyes had misted over with affection each time he looked at the girl who had once played with young William... how could he hurt her?

Carefully, he gathered her up in his arms, sighing as he felt her arms find their way around his neck. He sighed as he held her against his chest, recognizing the wetness of her tears on his shirt. How many times had this very scene repeated itself, though the bruises were not always the same? How many more times?

"It's not his fault," she whispered, and Bootstrap knew he had heard the same thing too many times to believe it, "he drinks too much. He doesn't know what he's doing." It was true, but no excuse. Tom was drunk more often than sober now, and he'd been that way since his wife had died giving birth to another man's child. He'd loved her, but she'd been lonely. Bill wondered about his own wife and young son, back in England, if they were happy, how they fared with him an entire ocean away. He did not know what to say to comfort her, so she said, gently, "It's my fault. I shouldn't make him angry like that. Should know better."

"It's not your fault," he said firmly, "it's his fault because he drinks as much as he does. Don't blame yourself, sweetheart. It's not because of you." Maybe this time he would ask Jack, and he would steal this young girl away on the _Pearl_, away from the horrors of this town that was so cruel to her. He couldn't, he knew.

"Will you stay?" she asked, and he smiled into her dark curls. Yes, he could do that.

* * *

"Jack?"

"Aye?" The man was, at twenty-three, five years his junior, but he knew his way around the ship and how to steer her. He was a good captain, a great pirate, and a very good friend.

"When do we leave port?" he asked, leaning casually against the wall. He already knew the answer.

"In the morning. I thought you knew that. You came all the way back 'ere to ask me that?" Yes, he did know when they were leaving, but it was as good a way as any to broach the subject.

"I don't think I'll be going with you this time, Jack."

Surprise was evident on the other's face. "Why's that?"

"Business," he said, and noticing the sly smile that Jack gave him, he added, "of the non-profit sort." The smile disappeared.

"What's going on, William?"

"You remember Tom, don't you?"

"Aye," Jack said, his brows furrowing. He'd met the man briefly, a year ago, when Bill had returned from a trip to England.

"He's got a daughter. His wife died a year ago. He's been a drunken slob since, and he's taken to... taking his anger out on the young girl. I need t'get her away from 'im, but I can't bring her on the ship, so I have to stay here."

"How long?"

"Month. Maybe more."

"Alright."

William smiled. "You'll be alright without me, won't you, mate?" Jack nodded, so he flashed a quick grin. "Thanks, Cap'n. The lass's waiting for me, so I need t'run. I'll see you when y'get back, keep a space for me."

Jack watched as Will turned quickly and left the cabin.

* * *

She smiled shyly, looking over the edge of small dinghy into the water. "You didn't have to stay, you know," she said absently.

"I did. I'm worried about you, Raven."

"Why? I'm fine, you know. I can take care of myself." He smiled sadly, reaching across and brushing his callused fingers over her bruised cheek. She winced, hanging her head. He put an arm carefully around her shoulders.

"It's not so much you as your father," he admitted, and she sighed.

"He hates me," she muttered.

"He doesn't hate you. He's a drunken idiot, and I don't trust him, but he doesn't hate you."

"Why does he hit me, if he doesn't hate me?"

"Because he's a drunken idiot, and he has been since your mother died."

She looked away from the water, turning her head to face him. She shivered, her shoulders heaving as she gave a deep sigh. "I miss her," she whispered, and he squeezed her against him reassuringly.

"I know you do," he said, and then paused. "I was wondering if you'd like to stay with me, for a few days, maybe a couple weeks... give your father a break."

"He's leaving in a few days," she informed him with a slight shrug.

"Then you wouldn't have to be at home by yourself."

"That... might be nice," she admitted, and he smiled down at her.

"I'll ask him tonight, alright?"

"You're the best brother a girl could have, Bootstrap." His smile widened to a grin, and she returned it. "I wish we were really related."

"We're not related, but we're connected. And you know, relation is essentially luck. You can be related to someone you don't like, but connecting with someone, that's special. It requires friendship, and caring... and all those sorts of things," he stumbled as he went on. He was a pirate; emotion was not supposed to be his forte.

"I love you, Boot," she said fondly.

"Likewise," he responded, as was their custom, and she quite suddenly wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He steadied himself with one hand against the mast, as the her unexpected affection had nearly cost him his balance, and held her close with his other arm. _Likewise_.

* * *

**Author's note: **Aren't they cute? Miriam is fifteen, Bootstrap is twenty-eight. Jack is twenty-three, and stars only briefly. This happened about fourteen years before most of the story, and three years before Jack and Bootstrap set off for the Isla de Muerta. I may have more of these as the story progresses, just snapshots of Miriam and Bootstrap, or even Bootstrap and Jack. We'll see, won't we?

**A note on interlude chapters: **If this were a movie, this scene would randomly appear between chapters 14 and 15. It is a part of the story, sortof. It could be a dream, for example, or a vision, or something, and it will be brought up later. It isn't a stand-alone thing that doesn't have anything to do with anything else.

**Review Responses: **

_Reese Sparrow: _Thank you! I'm very sorry chapter fifteen is taking such a horrifically long time, but for some reason it's just a pain in the ass to write.

_ChocolateEclar: _Yes, characters often lack depth when they're dead. I think it's cute that she often calls him just "Boot" instead of "Bootstrap". Raven's father will be explored more in-depth later, but for now he won't appear. Maybe Bootstrap is really alive, then we'll be able to see him in POTC2. I must admit, I'm curious.


	17. 16: Invention

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 16. Invention  
Summary: The second day in Tortuga. Jack finds out more about Miriam, but is then confused again. The girl doesn't want to be figured out.  
Timeline: Monday, June 6, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Jack tried to drag himself out of bed. The ground was conspicuously still, meaning he was not on the _Pearl_. He was lying on his back, his left arm stretched out and feeling of pins and needles. He tried to move, but something pinned him down. Looking around, he was greeted by the sight of short, dark tresses belonging to a feminine form curled up against him, who was using his arm as a pillow.

The girl looked very familiar, but he couldn't immediately place her. Her shoulder was swathed in bandages, the attached arm in a sling. Lips were slightly parted, and she breathed deeply and evenly. She had wrapped her hand in the fabric of his shirt, and he could sense that there was not an inch between their bodies. _I usually try to make sure they don't tie me down so I can get away in the morning_. She looked awfully peaceful for a prostitute.

It occurred to him suddenly that the woman at his side could not be a prostitute, unless he had been too drunk to perform the previous night, and he didn't remember having _that_ much to drink. But she was dressed, wearing cream-hued bodice, only loosely tied (but still definitely on), and navy men's breeches. He, too, was fully clothed, missing only his boots. After a moment's consideration, he smiled.

The extremely irritated Matthew, who had only accepted him into her bed after he promised to be good, give her money and buy her rum, who had pressed herself as closely to the wall as possible in order to put as much space between them as the small bed would allow, was now practically in his arms. She mumbled meaningless nothings at him. Yes, this was most definitely the same woman who had punched him less than a week ago, and she was now clinging to his shirt and curling up against his body.

Her eyes fluttered slowly open, and he for a moment saw himself reflected in their oceanic depths. She gazed sleepily at him, as if trying to recall who he was and how he had come to be there. It was as recognition settled on her features that Jack quite without warning felt himself shoved onto the floor and found Matthew standing over him. He winced at the kick that had sent him out of bed by landing _much_ too close to parts he preferred to keep in tact. She stared down at him, her face a mask of fury and--he paused--fear?

"What the _hell_ were you doing, Jack?" she seethed. The question sounded terribly familiar. Her lips were now curled back in anger, and her eyes (now fully awake) were filled with lightning.

"Good mornin' love," he greeted her with his most innocent smile, crossing his legs beneath him. He stretched luxuriously, pushing arms skyward until he felt the muscles loosen the familiar inaudible groan. "I was sleeping, if you must know. In the process of waking up, actually," he informed her, "but I'm very much awake now."

She glared at him, resisting the urge to do something she'd most likely regret later. She already felt guilty for the bruise he wore on the right side of his jaw. "I meant," she enunciated slowly, "_why_ were you on _my_ side of _my_ bed?"

He blinked, balefully getting to his feet. How was he supposed to explain to her that it was in fact _she_ who had been on _his_ side of her bed, and that he'd been sleeping peacefully until he had found that _she_ had placed _herself, without his prior knowledge or consent,_ in his arms. He hadn't exactly _objected_, or done anything to change the situation, but he still didn't see how it was _his_ fault. "Look," he said, "I woke up, you were there. It had nothing to do with me, savvy?"

"It has _everything_ to do with you," she countered, and he wondered abstractly if smoke would start coming out of her ears, "because _you_ were the one in _my_ bed." He attempted to point out that she was also in her bed, and was therefore equally responsible, but she wouldn't have it. "My bed. _My_ bed. Therefore _I_ am _supposed_ to be there, and _you_ are _not_."

"Yes, but we made a deal, so I had as much right as you to be there!" he insisted, pointed at himself, then at her, and finally at the bed, as if his completely erratic gestures had some meaning.

"I am **not** a prostitute, Jack," she reminded him curtly, as if he may not yet have realized this.

"Really? I'd no idea!" It was meant sarcastically, but his comment was greeted by an intense pain in the area he had been lucky to protect only minutes earlier. He toppled back to the ground, and curled himself into a protective ball. _Damn. I knew I'd so something I'd regret,_ she chided herself, standing over her victim.

"Parley?" he pleaded.

"You kicked me," he stated the obvious, looking at Matthew, "and it hurt. A lot."

"You tried to take advantage of me in my sleep," she returned, setting a mug on the table in front of him.

"I--" she shot him a warning glare, and he hesitated, "I'm very sorry." She rolled her eyes, a silent 'like hell you are'. He _was _very sorry; sorry that she had kicked him where you just shouldn't kick a man, and even more sorry that he owed her money and _rum_ for it. He almost hoped the next raid would show very little profit, so he wouldn't have to give her very much. With his luck, they'd make a fortune, and that was what he'd owe her. He looked suspiciously at the mug she had given him.

She had accepted his entreaty for mercy, and had helped him downstairs. Ushering him into a chair, she had set herself about the task of brewing that awful concoction known as "tea". Truthfully, it wasn't all that bad, but it wasn't rum, and it was likely that the girl had poisoned it. She confirmed his fear a few moments later by assuring him that it wasn't poisoned, which meant that it actually was.

He stood, pacing the room in a way some might think was nervous. Instead, he examined what few possessions she left in the open of the small parlor. Most everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, making it obvious that she wasn't home very often. The room was dark and the air stale, probably due to the fact that the windows were boarded shut. The only thing not touched by musty atmosphere was a plain book resting on the top of a wood cupboard.

It was small, bound in brown leather, "Sharp 1675" embossed on its cover. It was fairly battered, but the pages were not yet yellowed or curled. It would make sense, since the book could be no more than a year old, considering the current year was _1675_. Looking over his shoulder to take care that the woman was not watching him, he opened it to the last page. _Blank_. He flipped backwards several pages, until he opened to writing

_Sunday, May 29th, 1675__. The Black __Pearl__, between __Tortuga__ and __Nassau_

_The past months have been hell. The _Cain_ was a disaster, although my memory is unreliable and I don't remember how the months of hatred finally ended. I'm not sure I want to remember. Something awful happened aboard that ship, and I dread to know what it was. I'm terrified._

_For now though, I've found a place aboard the Black Pearl_. _My luck is unbelievable. None seem to know who I am, which is good. As I've stated several times, the captain is insane, but he's charming, almost irresistible in his insanity. He's a drunken fool, but I admire him. He's a good man. Bootstrap was right, and I do believe this Sparrow will get me into a great deal of trouble._

_I miss that old rascal. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. The ship, as much as I've come to love it, only makes it worse. She's a constant reminder. What became of him? It's strange, you know. For ten long years, I thought it was Jack's fault that he was dead, but now I'm not so sure. Barbossa. If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself._

_--Miriam/Matthew_

_

_

He flipped back another page.

_Saturday, May 28, 1675__. The Black __Pearl_ _between __Tortuga__ and __Nassau_

_i will find you here  
where her lips touch the sky  
and where my fingers once  
could brush those distant sails  
before you disappeared from me  
over the curve of the world_

_you and i are monuments now  
to the sorrow and futility  
of tears i've shed to salt  
and her jealous ways_

_there are clouds on the horizon  
another storm to tempt her,  
and lead her astray._

_Oh, this is awful. Never mind. I don't even know why I continue writing this blasted stuff. Poetry, it's disgusting stuff. I'm wasting my time, and I should be sleeping. This is ridiculous. Put the pen down, you idiot. Yes._

_--Miriam/Matthew_

Hearing something behind him, Jack swiftly replaced the book and looked his back to it. A moment later, Matthew turned and looked at him, a plate in her hands. He returned to his seat, and she put the plate next to the untouched cup. It had a fried egg and a strangely round biscuit with tiny holes in it.

He pointed at the plate. "What's that?"

"Breakfast."

"No, the round thing," he pointed more specifically at the offending piece of food.

"A crumpet, you idiot," she said tersely, sitting down with her own plate and cup of tea. He picked it up, sniffing it experimentally, before taking small bite out of it.

"Mmf... Good!" he said around his second, much larger, mouthful, and she smirked.

"Where the _hell _were you?" Anamaria demanded, and Jack decided that he was getting very tired of people asking him what the hell he was doing or where the hell he was. It was a very dull question to keep repeating. In any case, he wasn't required to reply right away, for the woman kept talking, "I went away for a second, an' when I came back, the pair of ye were gone! Some said something about a fight."

"Sorry, love," Jack said, sidling up next to her with a furtive grin, "some nut decided t'attack our Matthew, so I had to convince him that to do so was... unwise. Then we thought it best t'get out 'fore any of his friends might show up." Tentatively, Jack reached around her waist. Anamaria shoved him away, and he sighed.

"Hands off, Cap'n."

"But I thought you were worried about me!" he protested in vain, "I thought you cared! I was jus' showing my appreciation!"

"I rather got the impression she was hoping you'd drowned, so she could take the _Pearl_," Matthew offered, and Anamaria grinned while Jack pouted. Matthew was back in character.

Anamaria didn't doubt Jack's story, but lately something was strange about her captain. A week prior, he'd somehow earned a bruise on the right side of his jaw, and though he insisted a wall was to blame, she doubted it: it would be trial to hit the hinge of his jaw on a wall by complete accident. On this day, he walked with his legs spread just that little bit more than usual, like a man who'd been in a saddle for hours.

She shook her head, looking curiously at the young man who stood so innocently nearby. There was something _strange_ about Matthew, a grace no man should have, a softness of features and a delicacy that she'd never seen in one such as him. He should be awkward, perhaps gawky, but instead he was lithe and smooth, feminine in a way not at all unbecoming for a male. He smiled at her winningly, and she shrugged, content to forget about it for the moment.

It was night when Jack and Matthew found themselves again the Horse and Groom. Jack preferred the Faithful Bride, but it was Matt's choice this time. He sat alone at their table, watching as the extremely drunk young man hit shamelessly on the beautiful Emma half-way across the room. Amused, he watched as the bar-wench blushed in response to something the other said, and found himself again forgetting that beneath the heavy coat there lingered a woman.

His position was very confusing. He didn't know what to make of Matthew anymore. At first, he'd seemed a fairly carefree young man, who loved nothing more than a pint or more of rum, a good time to go with it, and the deck of a ship beneath his feet. Yet things were much more complicated now. Now he was several yards away, as drunk as could be, one arm wrapped around the waist of an individual who was technically of the same gender.

Matthew passed an empty tankard (Jack thought it might be his second) to the barmaid, who shook her head with a smile, and he staggered back to the table and slipped haphazardly into the seat across from his captain. His cheeks were ruddy from drink, and he had a permanent grin plastered on his face. He beamed at Emma as she placed yet another mug of rum in front of him, which he quickly took up.

"This's the life, ain't it, Jack?" he slurred, and Jack nodded. He was about to respond, when Matthew went on, "I've got... _all_ the rum a man or _woman_ could want, an' I don't even have t'pay for it! ... Not only that, but I may be owed a great deal of money, depend'n, all because I'm a very skilled _manipulatrice_."

"Hmm?" Jack asked, absently, though the last word had caught his attention. "How's that?"

"Well," the other responded, "I made a big deal 'bout you shouldn't walk me 'ome, so you insisted, knowin' once y'got there, y'wouldn't wanna turn back. I then convinced y'that I didn' know if I wanted y't'stay, so y'did, an I must say it paid off. Doncha think?" Matthew was obviously too drunk to have any idea what he was saying, but it sounded to Jack as if he were saying he'd orchestrated the entire events of the previous night. Not knowing what to respond, he simply nodded in a non-committal fashion.

"Mm-hmm... Well, I ought to get back to the ship. I'll see you Saturday morning, Matthew," he said abruptly, standing and steadying himself against the wall. Matthew shrugged and waved idly, before slumping over on the table.

Matt wondered if it was enough. _Jack left so suddenly, I didn't have a chance to further explain my manipulation,_ he lamented, but decided that perhaps Jack's unexpected departure was due to his discomfort with Matt's dialogue. He certainly hoped so.

The truth was that he had in no way 'orchestrated' the events of Friday evening as he claimed, but it was the only thing he had been able to think of to compromise Jack's trust in him. It wasn't that he wanted Jack to mistrust him, but he wanted him to doubt the truth of anything he'd been told so far. _He knows me too well, and it _must_ be fixed._ Jack had probably thought him too drunk to lie, since he'd had eight pints of rum that evening. The truth was that Emma had only given him weak ale, and he'd often passed it to her only half drunk. Surely, Jack wouldn't know that he'd been fooled.

_Why do I feel like he's lying about something, and that it's not what I think it is? _Jack wondered, staring at the ceiling of his cabin. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept well the previous night, staring at Matthew's back. The few pages he'd read of the journal had given him some insight. They'd been written slightly over two weeks ago. _Irresistible, _he thought, _hmm... _He smiled, shaking his head. Yet, whatever insight he'd thought he had was now unsure. Was she so talented that she had managed to manipulate him into her bed for money? And he hadn't even gotten anything out of it! He didn't know what to think, nor what he sure how he was being played.

He'd said he'd see Matthew next on Saturday morning. It was nearly a week away, and he wondered if she would get the message: _I don't want to see you again until Saturday_. Jack needed time now, to sort through his thoughts The woman was unforgivably enigmatic, a mystery he was having difficulty unraveling.

_"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, resigned to go if she insisted. He didn't know why, but he wanted to stay, to protect her. It was foolish, and he knew it, but he couldn't help but feel that he shouldn't leave her alone. It was as if something about her was crying for him to stay, though he could not put his finger on it. She was so angry and so vulnerable all at once._

_A sudden, helpless expression crossed her face, her brows furrowing slightly. Perplexed, she said weakly, "I don't know," and paused. "Not really." She seemed so sincere, so pleading, though she didn't intend it. How could she pretend that? Yet, that _was_ what she'd claimed she'd done, wasn't it? He didn't know._

**Author's note:** I know, I know. It's taken me _FOREVER_ to get this up. But it's here. At last. Enjoy! I need to study for my biology test. I decided on 1675 for the year the tale takes place because a) it's before Port Royal sunk and b) it's before Tortuga stopped being a big pirate hang out in the 1680s. Thank you all for your reviews and for reading my little story! I don't know if crumpets existed in the 17th century, but _I _really like them, so there. :P Excuse me for the large amount of typos in this chapter.

**Review Responses:**

_heather321: _Thank you, and I'll try! I'm not sure what I'm planning for chapter 16 yet.

_ChocolateEclar: _Yes, poor Jack indeed. Miriam and Jack "sleeping together" was amusing. She must have been awfully cute, before she woke up. x.x I'm not sure what I'm planning for the next chapter. I may make it the first chapter that doesn't have Matthew in it (or at least, doesn't have very much Matthew), and just focus on Jack. Or I might do the opposite and have it be just about Matthew. May be a while until the next update because I have TONS of homework this weekend which I can't put off.


	18. 17: Friends?

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 17. Friends?  
Summary: Jack and Miriam consider the past few days, as well as their potential friendship. Some nice men pay a visit.  
Timeline: Friday, June 10, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

"Cap'n?" Gibbs queried.

"Aye?" Jack responded without turning to face the quartermaster. Instead, he stood with his back to him, staring west over the ocean to the setting sun. It was Friday evening, and the past week and been slow and uneventful. He'd even found himself at times feeling something he wasn't used to: loneliness. It was as if he felt he should be with someone when he was not, and it was a sentiment he had never before experienced.

"You comin'?"

"No. I'll stay with the ship. You go, it's your last night."

"You sure?"

"Aye."

And so he left, presumably to some bar someplace in Tortuga to get roaring drunk with the rest of the crew. The only ones who wouldn't be there would be himself and Matthew, who he'd heard hadn't been seen since Monday. _Probably avoiding me_, Jack thought, _because I told him to._ Although Jack knew Matthew was truly a woman, he still had difficulty thinking of her as one. He wanted to feel betrayed, but instead he felt unusually sober, touched in some way. He knew Matthew was hiding something, and instead of being angry, he felt _sad_.

In the morning, the crew would be back, and so would Matthew. They would prep the ship, mend the sails, stock the ship with new supplies and get ready to set sail the next day. Their 'vacation' would be over, and he suspected many would be glad. A week on land can be a welcome break, but all sailors will again long for the sea. He both dreaded and looked forward to Matthew's return. Dreaded it because he knew their friendship... and at this thought he paused.

_Friendship?_ It was strange, because he'd known the young man only a little more than a month, and they'd gotten drunk together a few (or several) times, told stories, laughed, but friendship? At the same time, the term fit. He'd felt a strange fondness for him, even after he'd learned the boy's _real_ identity, and he'd cared about her ordeal, wanted to help her as much as she wanted him not to. Whether they were friends or not, he knew their relationship, even just as captain and crewmember, would be strained now, but Jack wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure she was alright.

The girl was pregnant. He wouldn't be at all surprised if she decided to abort the child, but she'd shown no inclination to do so. Although, he thought, she showed no inclination to tell him anything at all. He had pushed too hard, and she had given ground, and as far as he could tell, immediately regretted it and was now taking counter-measures. He doubted that she would tell him anything about anything, least of all about her intentions concerning her child.

He knew it would be intelligent to leave her in Tortuga, let her sort out her own problems, not get himself caught up in it. But he couldn't. Somehow, the girl affected him. He suspected it had something to do with her connection to Bootstrap, and though she'd told him some, he felt there had to be more to it. Bootstrap had said, on more than one occasion, that Raven was special. He'd also warned Jack to stay the hell away from her, but he hoped his old friend would forgive him if he breached that command in order to try and help her.

His thoughts were interrupted by heavy footsteps behind him. Jack could recognise the steps of most of his crew, but these were unfamiliar, and if he wasn't mistaken, they belonged to more than one set of boots. He turned, and found himself staring into the double-barrel of a pistol. Surprised, but not willing to show it, he smiled warmly.

"How can I help you, gentlemen?" he said, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome.

* * *

Dusk was still hours away, but Miriam was already tired. These past days, she'd done nothing but stay at home, sleeping and cooking her simple meals as best she could with one hand. She felt _old_, and crippled. Her sword-arm was useless, and she was six weeks pregnant. Her breasts were swollen and tender, and she was exhausted. As much as she was loath to admit it, she kept considering returning to the _Pearl_, apologizing to Jack, and hoping that he would take pity on her. She wasn't sure if it was the thought of crawling back to him or the baby itself that gave her the sudden urge to vomit.

_For a while there, I thought I had a friend_. She had ruined it, and was sure that Jack would hate her now. There was a thin line she was going to have to walk: keep Jack distant without making him angry enough to kick her off his ship. Monday morning was still weighing heavily on her mind. For a few moments there, she had felt warm... safe, almost. Jack's body had been both soft and firm against hers, and seemed almost as a shield that protected her. She regretted that she had realized who he was and reacted violently--she could have pretended to sleep on, oblivious. Her bed still smelled like him.

She chided herself. Yes, Jack Sparrow was a very handsome man, and his roguish smile bordered on irresistible. It was true that sometimes when he got too close her heart fluttered nervously, but that was due solely to the fact that he made her uncomfortable, which caused a slight rush of adrenaline. It could even have something to do with the fact that he was physically attractive, but Miriam would not be charmed by his ways. He was her captain, and she respected him, but that was all. Her feelings toward him were in no way confused by even the slightest crush, and any uncertainty was due to the hormones of her pregnant body and the aftermath of what those men had done to her. _Although_, she admitted, _I'm afraid, and he for a moment made it a little easier to bear._

There was a loud knock at the door, and she recognized that it was on Caroline's. Caroline was a good woman, and useful for Miriam's purposes. Carefully, she made her way downstairs, peered sideways out the window. A knot of men surrounded her neighbour's door. Their backs were all turned, and she not see their faces. Their voices, though, were hauntingly familiar.

"Where's Anthony?" demanded one, and Miriam winced. She could not hear the quiet response.

"I suggest you remember, missus, or you'll find that we can be quiet persuasive."

"The _Cain, _Anthony is aboard the _Cain,_" Caroline replied, this time audible to Miriam, and the woman's tone was fearful.

"Sorry, unfortunately we know better than that. We're from the _Cain._"

She didn't need to hear anymore. The lifted the coat she had discarded the previous night, throwing it over her shoulders. Her right arm found its way to the right sleeve, but with only one hand, she could not button it. She slipped the leather-bound book on the countertop into a pocket, suddenly thankful for the weight of the pistol in the other because the sword at her waist was useless. She went swiftly to the closet, which she threw open. As she pulled the dusty chest from its hiding place, she wished the blasted thing had wheels, but knew she could not leave it behind. Quietly, she made her way out the back door, just as she heard Caroline scream, and hoped that the men did not know this part of Tortuga as well as she did. The name _Jack Sparrow_ rang in her ears, she was not sure if Caroline had cried it or if it was her own mind that had whispered it.

* * *

**Author's note: **Bit short, I know, and somewhat of a cliff-hanger. However, I don't know if I'll be able to write anything else this weekend, so I figured you'd appreciate this instead of absolutely nothing! The summary was a bit deceiving, I know. Enjoy! 

Also, I'm **very** sorry... Chapter seventeen may take a while. I injured the middle finger of my right hand, and its infected and it HURTS, and it's making it difficult to type. I was going to try to write chapter seventeen tonight, but it's painful, so I may write it by hand over the next few days and hope that when I'm done, my hand is healed enough to type. If not, I'll continue writing as much as possible by hand, and if it takes me ages to get back, maybe there'll be a few chapters posted at once to make up for it. I'll be back as soon as it doesn't hurt me to type.

**Review Responses: **

_DaydreamBeliever14: _I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter (at least, I think you did, since you want more... I hope!) I've already answered that question ("Are Jack and Miriam going to end up as more than friends?"), but I'll answer it again for your benefit: honestly, I have _no_ idea. It's a possibility, but I write this story literally a chapter at a time. I have a vague idea of what's going to happen in chapter 17, but I couldn't give you any specifics. You _can, _however, expect some sexual tension later on. You saw the very beginnings of said tension earlier, but it'll get worse (or better, depending on your point of view... worse if you think like Miriam, better if you think like Jack).

_Reese Sparrow: _You're wonderful, and I'll update as soon as my hand heals, I promise! You'll find out where Miriam runs off too in the next chapter. You have my word!

_ChocolateEclar:_ As I've already said, I LOVE YOU. Thank you so much for your reviews!

On that note, thank you to EVERYONE who has reviewed. I think (hope) I've responded to all of you! You're all WONDERFUL people. Thank you **so** much!


	19. 18: Confrontation

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 18. Confrontations  
Summary: Miriam makes a new friend, and meets a few old ones.  
Timeline: Friday, June 10, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Maris K.)

* * *

The adrenaline was rushing through her veins, and she was tired. She slumped against the wall of the nameless alley, sitting heavily on the chest she'd already dragged a full half-mile from her home. There was a long way to go before she would reach her destination, and she was exhausted and terrified. She didn't even know where she was going, only that it was far away and she had no idea how she would ever be able to get there. She knew she could not go back to the _Pearl_, they would find her there. She wanted desperately to go home, crawl into bed, and pretend it was all a bad dream.

Her right hand ventured experimentally to her pocket, fondled the pistol's grip for a brief moment. She was reassured by the cool touch of the wood, and by the fact that she had at least one weapon on her person she could use, even if her sword-arm had been crippled by the very weapon she was now depending on.

A sudden, unidentified noise, a sort of long squeak or plaintive whine alarmed her. She jerked the pistol from her pocket, cocked it, and looked from one side to the other, searching for the source. The sound repeated itself, and she identified its direction as the earth itself. Looking at her feet, she saw a sight she had not expected.

It was a kitten; a rather disheveled, lost and hungry kitten, with a coat as black as the darkest midnight, and eyes as round and bright as a pair of newly minted gold coins. The pair looked at each other for a long moment, until Miriam awkwardly placed the pistol back in her pocket, and bent down to scoop up the tiny animal. It meowed pathetically at her, and she put it to rest on her lap, where the little beast curled up, hiding its face under its tail.

"I'm Miriam," she informed the kitten. The creature looked at her curiously, and she smiled. "Who're you?" she asked, and was answered by a small squeak, and what she was sure was a very gentle purr. "Well, Squeak... I have to go." The cat looked at her pleadingly, and Miriam furrowed her brows. Gently, she lifted the animal, which fit easily in the palm of her hand, and placed it carefully into the pocket with her journal. "I guess you can come too. I hope you like water."

With a sigh, she stood again, grabbing the handle of the heavy chest and wincing as she heard the awful sound it made as she dragged it over the brick of the alley-way. She knew where she had to go, because there was no other place to go, and she had promises to keep, as dangerous as they seemed.

* * *

Jack offered his 'guests' his most charming smile. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" he inquired, spreading his arms in welcome.

"We're lookin' fer Mir'm," came the gruff response of the man who held the pistol aimed at his head. Jack recognized him: he was a vile creature, with graying hair and a nose both flat and swollen. It was evidently broken, a fact that was endlessly amusing to the _Black Pearl_'s captain, especially considering that he'd inflected the wound. He hoped, in fact, that it would be permanently deformed when it healed.

Jack allowed self-deprecation to enter his expression, giving a helpless shrug. "A lass? Sorry, mate. Can't help you there, don't know any lasses by that name."

"I thinks you do," another man, from behind the first, informed him. The tone of his voice was threatening, and Jack idly supposed it was meant to be intimidating. He did not feel intimidated in the least. This was _his_ ship they stood on.

"Really now," he said reasonably, "you can't expect a man such as meself to remember every wench 'e's bedded, can you?"

Roger wouldn't have it. "Where's the boy y'saved on Sunday?" he remanded impatiently.

Jack's eyes lit with recognition. "Oh! Him!" he said brightly.

"Aye. Him. Where is 'e?"

"Don't rightly know." He sighed emphatically, "I found 'e was hiding certain things from me," the knot of men behind Roger exchanged knowing glances, "so I had t'send her... uh... him on 'is way." He slipped purposefully on the gender, hoping to give them a hint they would think was unintentional.

What Jack had not anticipated was the familiar 'click' of another pistol being cocked not too far off, but separate from the group of men who were gathered in a semi-circle around him. None of them seemed to notice it, but he swiftly identified its source. Standing only yards off, with his pistol aimed, was Matthew.

Only, it wasn't Matthew, it was Miriam. She was standing there by the stairs, and her coat was open so he could see her useless arm and the cream corset, and the subtle curves of the feminine figure she so often hid. Her pale eyes were full of fury, expression grim with determination. She was beautiful, Jack realized with a sudden shock, beautiful in a wild way that he'd noticed eleven years ago when he'd watched a barmaid by the name of Raven from across the room, and forgotten when she'd disappeared. Her untamed elegance was different now, matured and perfected, enhanced by the fire in her eyes, and the danger he saw in her lithe movements as she slinked closer.

He saw her pull the trigger in slow motion, ages before the sudden thunder of the shot fired, before the gasp as the gun flew from Roger's hand. His pistol went off as disembodied fingers clutched the trigger on impulse, and the bullet missed Jack by mere inches. But he knew the opportune moment when he heard it, and as the man stared at where he'd just lost two fingers, he drew his own pistol, and pushed the cold metal of the barrel's end into Roger's forehead.

"I suggest you leave, gents, as you're no longer welcome aboard my ship," Jack said compassionately. They all stood as if glued in place, except for Roger, who indeed seemed keen to back off. Roughly, Miriam grabbed his arm. She had stepped up, and held him firmly in place.

"Order your men to leave, or you won't," she warned him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The pirates turned on heel and ran. Miriam knew them for what they were: cowards. The only one that remained was her captive, with Jack's pistol still aimed point-blank. She released his arm, but he still didn't move, so she leaned forward and took his cutlass from the belt at his waist. She tossed it overboard. "Run, Roger," she encouraged, and he turned around and ran.

Jack looked at her in shock. For a moment, he had expected her to retrieve her pistol and shoot him where it would kill. It would be what he deserved, but she didn't. She let him run, to crawl back to his ship and nurse his wounds. He was about to comment, when she turned around and descended the steps without saying a single word to him. He stared after her, until he heard her voice.

"Some help, please?" she insisted, as if he should have known.

"What's in the chest?" he asked, appraising the heavy wooden chest he had helped her drag up the gangway onto the ship. Together, they'd hauled the blasted thing into the mess, and she'd stowed it in one of the empty cabins. She sat on the bed, and he sat in the chair in the corner of the room, which was really a glamorized closet.

"Mother's belongings, some old dresses, journals, things like that. Sentimental crap, really," she said, shrugging.

"Uh, Matthew, I was wondering," Jack said carefully, not looking at her.

"What?"

"D'you want to just make this cabin yours, since you're keeping your stuff in here now anyway?"

She shrugged again. "Don't you think the men would find it odd that one of their mess-mates suddenly got a cabin for no reason? Only Anamaria, Gibbs and Quartetto have cabins, since Anamaria's a woman, Gibbs is quartermaster, and Quartetto is first mate."

He grinned. "Well then, Second Mate Matthew, welcome to your new cabin!" Jack announced. Miriam smiled. Their conversation was interruption by a quiet 'meow' that emitted from her pocket. Jack looked at her, confused. With her good hand, she reached into her, and withdrew from it the fuzzy black kitten.

"I picked this thing up on my way over here," she said, holding it out for inspection.

"Oh," Jack said, and paused. "What's its name?"

"Doesn't have one, really. I've been calling it Squeak."

Jack stared at her, aghast. "You are not," he insisted forcefully, "keeping a cat named _Squeak_ on my ship!"

"I couldn't think of a better one," she replied with a shrug, "and I can't tell its gender."

He took it from her in callused hands and inspected it. Turning it around, he lifted the cat's tail, nodded thoughtfully, and then gave it back. "Girl," he announced.

"Alright," she said, scratching behind the kitten's ears affectionately, "how about Morgan?"

"That's a boy's name."

"Not Morgan as in Henry Morgan," she told him, "Morgan as in Morgan le Fey."

"Morgan le Fey?" he echoed, dubious.

"It's a good name for a pirate's cat."

"Morgan it is," he agreed.

* * *

**Author's note: **I wanted to give Miriam a cat because I figured she needed a friend that was rather unconditional, and a cat seemed to fit the bill. The cat is also the closest thing to self-insertion in the story, because my "official" nickname (long story, don't ask) is Morgan. I like Morgaine/Morgan le Fey in _The Mists of Avalon_, so that's the cat's namesake. Although Henry Morgan is to a point as well, since my "full" "official" nickname is Henry Morgan. Again, long story, don't ask. So Henry Morgan le Fey the cat. :P Expect a bit of a wait before chapter eighteen, though there may be an interlude to keep you occupied. I'm not entirely sure what I want to do for chapter eighteen, but I have at least three ideas for interludes, which you can expect to see sometime in the near future.

**Review responses:**

_heather321: _I will! Promise! In fact, I'm about to upload chapter eighteen _right now_.

_DaydreamBeliever14: _I didn't want her to be lonely, and Morgan is going to be useful to give you information about the plot. You'll see. Very, very soon.


	20. 19: Introductions

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 19. Introductions  
Summary: Introductions, announcements, and a destination chosen.  
Timeline: Saturday, June 11, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

Miriam remained below deck, staring out the small, round window at the familiar Tortugan pier. It bustled with activity as sailors loaded crates onto the ship. She could hear Jack's voice above, shouting orders. By daylight, Tortuga's port-side was no less rambunctious tan at night, and she could see the painted women and the drunks gallivanting not too far off.

The crew had arrived at daybreak, their heads sore from the night's pleasures. Jack was merciless, and had set them immediately about the tasks of preparing the ship for departure. Sails were mended, decks swabbed, leaks patched. By afternoon, the _Pearl_ would be again sea-worthy, and the pirates would leave. Until then, Miriam remained, sitting on her bed. Above deck, she could do nothing but get in the way, and she knew that if she was needed, Jack would inform her.

Morgan seemed to be settling in. She was curled in Miriam's lap, and purred contentedly as the pirate stroked her fur. Now clean, the kitten's coat was as smooth as the softest silk, and black like the ocean on a starless night. Her eyes, when open, were gold-flecked amber. At that moment though, they were closed, and the feline slept well after a good meal and a self-imposed bath.

Both Miriam and her furry companion lifted their heads as someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" she called, though she knew the answer already; she had not heard the captain shouting for the past few minutes. The door opened, and Jack stepped in swiftly before closing it behind him and locking it. He sat again in the same chair he had occupied last night.

"Good morning," he said. Receiving no immediate response, he went on, "You haven't been above deck all morning."

"Why bother? There's not a damn thing I can do but get in the way," she responded with a light shrug of her right shoulder. Jack nodded thoughtfully, although not necessarily in agreement. She indicated the coat which hung from the back of the chair he'd placed himself in with a lazy finger. "Can't get that thing on and done up without difficulty, and I didn't want to bother."

"I could help you," he offered.

She shook her head. "That won't be necessary," was her short reply. Pretending to be examining the wall behind his head, she considered his appearance. His arrival had not been unexpected, but she found herself wishing he would leave. His dark eyes were averted as he, too, pretended to examine their surroundings. His wild hair was under the same state of disarray as was common, and there were the same number of beads and coins tied up in it. His mustache was smoothed, and the braids of his beard were still there. Nothing about him had changed, but she thought he looked different.

Miriam decided that he looked unusually sober. He'd been unusually sober unusually often, and she didn't like it. The silence was uncomfortable, but before she could open her mouth to break it, he spoke. "I thought you might enjoy having the key to your room," he said, dangling a bit of metal in front of her. She took it, examined it carefully, and murmured a thank you. He went on, "There are two keys. I have the other." That was what he had come to say, and so he stood.

"Wait," she said, interrupting his movement toward the door. She picked Morgan up with one hand, and held her out to him. "Take this for a moment." When he accepted the charge, she stood, and took the coat from its resting place. The kitten looked at him sleepily. Awkwardly, she pulled on the jacket, and buttoned it as swiftly as she could, which wasn't very swiftly at all. Miriam disappeared, and Matthew against took over. Jack looked at him, and then held the cat out to him. Matt took Morgan with his good hand, and put her in his pocket. The cat's head peered out curiously.

"You're coming up then?" Jack asked, and Matthew nodded.

"I thought I should introduce the crew to the newest member."

* * *

All work on deck paused as Jack and Matthew surfaced from below. Many cast smiles in their direction, pleased to see that Matt had finally shown himself. They were used to his absences when there was work to be done, and understood that the reason was not laziness, but rather an attempt to keep out of the way, and not stop others from completely their tasks. Jack noticed the intermission, and looked about disapprovingly. Most began to return shamefacedly to their chores, but were interrupted by their captain's voice. "The lot of you, over here, now!" he commanded, and a loud chorus of "aye" resounded in response as they hastened to obey the order.

The men, and Anamaria, gathered in a tight semi-circle around Jack and Matthew at his side. A few took moments longer to appear, as they descended from the rigging. When all were present, Jack elbowed Matt in the ribs, who glared at him, but then turned a smile to the crew. With little further hesitation, he reached into his pocket, and gently removed from it the sleek form of the miniature feline.

"This is Morgan," he said by way of introduction, and the crew beamed at the dark, gold-eyed creature that arranged itself proudly on Matthew's upturned palm. There were murmurings of good luck and other greetings among the men, for it was well-known that cats aboard ships were good luck, especially black cats. Gibbs seemed to be the most pleased, for he was the most superstitious of them all.

Matthew stooped, and deposited Morgan on the ship's deck. The cat sniffed curiously at the many pairs of boots which surrounded her, and gave a small meow at the group. Matthew smiled paternally, stood, and there was a warning in his eyes as he faced the crew again. "I'm letting her roam free for now, to get used to her new home, but if anyone steps on her or throws her overboard, you know what luck you'll face," he announced, and everyone swallowed nervously and nodded.

There was a moment of silence, and Jack interrupted, "Also, I'll have you all know that Matt 'ere is now second mate, since we didn't have one." Everyone nodded, although no-one was entirely sure what a second mate was supposed to do. A few gave their congratulations, until Jack looked at them all with a stern eye. As if on command, they all turned and returned to their work. Jack looked sideways at Matthew, who returned the gaze.

"Your first duty as second mate," Jack informed him grandly, "is to... uh... watch Morgan." The conclusion of the statement was rather weak, but Matthew nodded without a word, and followed the feline, who had begun to prowl the deck curiously.

* * *

That afternoon, when everything that needed to be done had been, the crew gathered in the captain's quarters. They stood around the table that was built around the mizzenmast that intersected the room, and looked expectantly at their captain.

"You all know why we're here, don't you?" Jack asked, and bared a gold-toothed smile as they nodded. "Good!" he announced. "So, what's it going to be?"

The names of several places were shouted out simultaneously. Jack identified these as "Nassau," "Havana," and "Portobello." He repeated these in that order, and each was greeted by a show of hands: five for Nassau, three for Havana, and five for Portobello. Jack grimaced.

"Well," he said, "it's a tie 'tween Nassau and Portobello, and I vote Nassau, bringing the total to six, three and five. Nassau Port it is." A few looked mildly disappointed, and a few grinned. Jack identified the face that Matthew wore as neither, for he had instead an unreadable expression, as if he were considering some vastly important thing.

* * *

**Author's note: **It's rather a short chapter, and somewhat dull. The next chapter will be more interesting, as will their arrival in Nassau. I've got a few ideas floating around in this head of mine, and you can expect me to dig up some stories. I really need to develop the crew more.

**Review Responses:**

_heather321: _I've posted three chapters today. I hope that makes you happy. :P

_DaydreamBeliever14: _As I've said many times, I have no idea! Maybe, maybe not. We'll see!


	21. 20: Michael Raven

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 20. Michael Raven  
Summary: The story of Michael Raven. Read and find out.  
Timeline: Thursday, September 28, 1666. Approximately nine years before _Of the Sea_.  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

He was twenty, a young man with dark hair and pale eyes, a quick laugh and a smile innocent enough to be suspicious. He was neither a pirate nor an honest man, but instead a medium, who rested uncertainly on the edge between. He'd arrived in Nassau that afternoon, with a pocket full of ill-gotten currency, and a craving for a stiff drink. It was not a particularly honest town, and he quickly located an inn that seemed to be of extremely ill-repute.

Once inside, he crossed to the bar and ordered a tankard of strong ale. He found an abandoned table, and set himself in the seat to wait. It was not long before another man approached him, this one older, with dark eyes and a disheveled mass of ash-blonde hair that was attached in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. He stood silently by the table, until the younger man nodded his permission. The other sat across from him, and lazily raised a hand to flag one of the barmaids. He ordered an ale, and then peered curiously at the dark-haired lad across from him.

"Your name?" the younger asked with an arched brow.

"Daniel Clark. Yours?"

"Michael Raven," he said, flashing a quick smile. "What's your trade?"

"Merchant marine," Daniel said, with a wink that most others would miss. The barmaid deposited his order in front of him, and he paid her. She sauntered off to service another table, and both men watched her appraisingly with subtle smiles on their lips. Michael nodded knowingly, and returned the wink to signal that he understood. "You got a ship?" the other asked.

Michael shook his head, "No. I'm looking into acquiring one though." His tone was sly, a hint of mischief to his words. Daniel grinned at his new companion, knowing the translation all too well. The younger man continued, "I may need some help though," he admitted, the smile he wore far too sweet to be taken at face value.

"I think I could be of service to you."

The pair swiftly downed their drinks, and wandered out into the afternoon sun. They made their way in silence to the docks, which were furnished for the most part by large merchant vessels, entirely unsuitable for their purposes. Every so often, one would point curiously at some ship that caught their eye, and most often would be greeted by a shake of the head by the other.

It was late afternoon by the time Michael indicated a bark, a small three-master with six guns a side. Her name was the _Aurora_and both men fell in love the moment they laid eyes on her. Her sails were rigged with white canvas, and a British flag flew from her mainmast. She was a beauty, and Michael knew that he had to have her. He turned to his companion.

"You've got a pistol, right?" he inquired.

"Aye, you?"

"Aye, and a cutlass. Let's go."

The pair sauntered inconspicuously up the gangway, pleased to see that the deck was occupied only by a single watch of two men. With a silent nod, Michael indicated that he would take one, and Daniel the other. He grinned, and disappeared to take care of his half of the job, leaving Michael to deal with his. The watchman was looking the other way, so it was easy. Drawing his pistol, his came up behind him, and clapped his hand over the man's mouth, prodding the barrel into his throat threateningly.

"Be _very_ quiet," he whispered, "and I won't have to hurt you." His captive nodded, and swallowed hard. Removing his hand from the man's mouth, Michael reached over and grabbed a rope that was draped over the rail. Without a word, he lowered his pistol, and quickly bound the man's hands. Quietly, he asked, "Is there anyone below decks?" The man shook his head, and Michael smiled, taking his arm and leading him to the base of the mainmast, where Daniel was waiting with his own charge.

They bound their prisoners to the mast, and it was only with minor difficulty that the two men could crew the ship. Fortunately, it was already fully rigged, and the sails needed only to be set to catch the wind. Michael took the place at the wheel, watching as his new shipmate made sure all the lines were tight.

After an hour, they'd gained a suitable distance from the dock. The captives were unbound, and deposited in a rowboat which was released to the sea with a pair of oars. Michael grinned over the side of the newly-liberated ship, waving cheerfully at the pair, who would no doubt soon lose their jobs due to their failure to defend the ship. As they rowed away, one of them called back. "Are you pirates?" he asked.

Michael shrugged. "Two steps left," he shouted, then turned to return to the helm, leaving the freed men to wonder what he meant. There are three steps to becoming a pirate. The first, Michael had just completed: commandeer a small ship. The next was to make a black flag.

"Dan!" Michael called, and the older man came immediately to his side.

"Aye, Cap'n?" he said. The younger beamed, resting his hand affectionately on the wheel of the ship; _his_ ship, as Daniel had just confirmed. There was a part of him that wanted to inquire, to verify his position, but he knew not to doubt what had just been granted. The _Aurora_was his.

"What do we have in the line of sewing supplies?" he asked curiously.

Michael was thankful that he knew how to sew. He was also thankful that the ship had kept some black canvas and some white, as well as strong needles and thread, all of which were most likely used for the repair of clothing or sails. He had left Daniel to mind the helm, and make sure they were on course to their destination: Tortuga. He had then retired to complete his second step.

His would not bear the skulls or bones that were so common on the black flags of pirates. He cut his own designs out of the white cloth with a careful hand, laid each piece out on the black field of the flag, before stitching the pieces together with infinite precision. He repeated the process for each side. When the flag was complete, it bore a white heart, and beneath it a pair of crossed swords.

It took a week to reach Tortuga, where the pair set about the task of gathering a crew. They found a good one of twenty men, good sailors and thieves, the lot of them, and good men as well. They again set sail, under the flag of Captain Michael Raven. There was only one step their captain had left to complete, and he did it. With a savage grin, he took on the world with reckless abandon, in a campaign that would last just over a year. They looted enough ships to fill the _Aurora_'s hold ten times over, and despite his disappearance, Michael Raven's declaration of war would never be entirely forgotten.

**Author's note: **Michael Raven's story will be tied in with the main story really soon, I promise. :P I'm about to start working on the next bit. There are three steps to becoming a pirate. One: Commandeer a small ship. Two: Make a black flag. Three: Declare war on the world. This is according to one of the script-writers of Pirates of the Caribbean, and that statement was the inspiration for this story.

**Review Responses:**

_DaydreamBeliever14: _I'm glad you enjoyed it. More had been posted.

_ChocolateEclar: _I'm glad you like it! If you were a bit behind, it's probably because I've been writing a lot today. :P Michael will be explained more over the next couple of chapters, and the questions "who the hell is he?" and "is he Miriam" will be answered _very_ soon. Promise! I'm glad you like Morgan. She's cute. She's going to have a large part later... but it may be a while, and I might have to tell you "hey, this is her large part!" before you notice that it is. I love you!

_heather321: _Indeed!


	22. 21: A Lousy Story

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 21. A Lousy Story  
Summary: More on Michael Raven.  
Timeline: Monday, June 13, 1675 Tuesday, November 6, 1667  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

"They looted enough ships to fill the _Aurora_'s hold ten times over, and despite his disappearance, Michael Raven's declaration of war would never be entirely forgotten," Matthew told the small feline who was curled up in his lap. Idly, he wondered why he had bothered telling the tale to Morgan, who probably didn't care about or understand anything that had been said.

It was then that the door opened. Jack let himself in, and seated himself in the same chair he usually occupied when he invaded Matt's cabin. "Lovely story," Jack said, "how does it end?" Matthew shrugged and rolled his eyes, looking out the window.

"It just did," he said.

"You said he disappeared. What happened?"

"You tell me."

"Alright," Jack said. "This is the story as I heard it told..."

Eight years ago, in November of 1667, Captain Raven and his crew of buccaneers had been ravaging the Caribbean for thirteen months. The tales of Michael Raven were countless, many depicting him as cruel and bloodthirsty. In truth, as pirates went, he was of the good sort. He was in the habit of taking the gold of his victims, but leaving them with their lives. Of course, the British navy couldn't care less if his prey lived or died. The fact remained that he was a pirate, which meant there was noose with his name, and others for each member of his crew.

They sent two ships to capture him, a warship and a square-rigger merchant ship. The merchant ship destroyed its own masts, and drifted until the _Aurora_found it. They looted it, of course, since no pirate could resist such an easy target. Unfortunately, they sailed right into the British trap. The _Aurora_ was quick, far quicker than any warship, but the _HMS Royal_ came on them while they were still aboard the merchant vessel. The battle was fierce, but they were all captured.

The British planned to take the lot of them back to Nassau to hang them, but Captain Raven did not intend to oblige them. That night, the man set to guard him and his crew, locked in the brig of their own ship, was foolish enough to fall asleep. Michael succeeded in picking the lock of his cell, but he had to leave his crew behind. There were not hours enough before daylight to take back the ship, nor would the entire crew be able to fit into the rowboat that the captain knew he could use to escape.

Through the bars that separated them, he promised his crew that he would meet them in Nassau, to save them from the noose. The British had been smart enough not to leave the keys in the brig with their prisoners, but the captain did leave the crew with his knife, so they would be able to pick the lock of their own cell. Wishing them luck, he fled to the upper deck, where he stole himself a rowboat and a bottle of rum. Captain Michael Raven was never seen again by his crew, or by any other man now living.

The crew put his last gift to good use. In the dead calm of the next night, the crew slipped from their cells. They crept silently though the ship, gathering the British soldiers the navy had set to sail the _Aurora_ back to Nassau. They hoped these could swim, and cast them overboard, and before anyone was the wiser, the _Aurora_ was headed in the opposite direction.

After rescuing the discarded sailors, the _HMS Royal_ attempted to chase the _Aurora_, but the pirate bark was too quick, and escaped them with ease. When they had lost the warship, the _Aurora_ doubled back and headed to Nassau, hoping to find their Captain. They were blown severely off course by a storm, and arrived three weeks later. There was no trace of Michael Raven, and no man matching his description had been seen.

They searched the town for a week, asked every man, woman and child if they had seen him, but he was not there, and he never came. The _Aurora_ still sails these waters, but she is no longer well-known. Her crew never named a new captain, and no man has moved to fill the great cabin. They still wait for the return of their captain, though some say he must have been lost at sea. Daniel Clark won't believe that Mike Raven is dead, nor will his crew, and every so often, you'll hear a tale that Captain Raven had been seen in Tortuga, waiting for the _Aurora_ to find him.

"That's a lousy story," Matthew said.

Jack shrugged, "It's precisely what happened. He snuck off in the middle of the night and died, leaving his crew to look for him forever and never find him."

"You think he drowned?"

"There's no reason to think otherwise," Jack said. "Why? You think he's still living?"

Matthew shook his head. "You're probably right," he said.

His captain stood, yawned sleepily. "We're almost in Nassau. In fact, I think we probably arrived while I was narrating that 'lousy story'." The younger shook his head with disapproval, clicking his tongue. Jack glared at him, but received no immediate response. Instead, Matthew stood, and went to the door.

"If that be the case," he said, "I think I'll go ashore."

**Author's note: **Very short chapter. There wasn't much else to say.

**Review responses:**

_DaydreamBeliever14: _Glad you liked it. That question will be answered very soon, probably in chapter 22. I promise!

_heather321: _I'm glad you think so.

_ChocolateEclar: _Those questions will be answered very soon! I'm glad you enjoyed my many updates; I had school off on Friday, so I spent a great deal of it writing. Today, I only managed to get one chapter done, but I hope you enjoy it!


	23. 22: Home Again

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 22. Home Again  
Summary: Matthew and Morgan wander Nassau.  
Timeline: Monday, June 13, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

There were memories in Nassau; sweet and bitter they were, and countless. Matthew had been glad to escape from Jack and _Pearl_, glad to find himself in the busy streets as the sun set on the western horizon. He found himself looking out to sea, to the clear Caribbean waters, tinged gold by the fading rays of the sun. He smiled faintly at the shadowy outline of the _Black Pearl_, and then turned away.

He wanted to not think, wanted to forget the past month of his life, and maybe more after that. Jack was an enigma, never letting on how much he knew or didn't know. Matthew was torn, wishing he could trust him, wishing he didn't want to. It had been too long since he had trusted anyone; Bootstrap had been the last. It was nearing twelve years since his departure. He had to admit, he felt connected to Jack. He knew it was probably that they had both known William Turner, and he wanted to be able to trust the man that Bootstrap had trusted.

"I trust you," he muttered by way of compromise, stroking the soft head of the cat that was curled up in the depths of his pocket. He hadn't wanted to leave Morgan behind, so had decided it would be best if she accompanied him. He didn't intent to go drinking, or do anything that might upset or frighten his companion.

He thought of all the men he'd known, and all those he had called friends. Many had been good men, good shipmates, but how many would he have trusted with his life, or more importantly, with his secrets? He and Daniel had been close, all those years ago, but could he really say he'd trusted him? _Not enough_. Of all of them, Jack was the worst. With the others, it had been easy. He'd never been tempted to pull any of them aside, to spill his darkest thoughts, his fears... but Jack evoked in him a desire to do just that.

He walked along the street that ran perpendicular to the docks, peering curiously at the ships. There were less of the larger merchant ships now, more of the smaller, quicker vessels so ripe for liberation, like the _Aurora_. There was one even that looked just like her, with three masts, her sails as white as the purest afternoon clouds. There was no flag upon her mainmast, no hint to her nationality. Logic said it was most likely a pirate ship. There was a group of men gathered around the bottom of the gangway, and they laughed amongst themselves. Matthew edged closer, trying to read the ship's name.

He was shocked. The ship was no other than the one it so resembled: the _Aurora_. In her perfect beauty, matched only by the _Pearl_, she was there, docked just in front of him. He was torn between running away and running to her. Instead, he settled on a casual walk towards the ship, wondering if she was still crewed by the same men.

"Excuse me," he interjected politely into the conversation of the sailors, most likely pirates, though he kept his head bowed, hoping not to be recognized, "do you know where I can find Daniel Clark?" The group of men all turned and looked at him.

One of them nodded and said, "Aye. I'll get 'im." He darted up the gangway, shouted something along the lines of "Hey, Dan! Someone's 'ere t'see you!" and returned within seconds. Matthew nodded his thanks, looking up the ramp from the corner of his eye. It was then that a very familiar silhouette appeared, and he was gripped by a sudden urge to turn around and leave. It was too late, now. He was standing just far enough away from the group of pirates for Daniel to know that he was the one who was looking for him.

He sauntered down the gangway. "How can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"How's _Aurora_ doing, Dan?" Matthew asked, lifting his head to meet his old friend's eye.

Daniel Clark thought he was going to have a heart attack. Eight long years they had _searched_ and out of the blue, the man suddenly appeared right in front of the ship, with a slight smile on his lips. "Captain!" he said, expecting to choke. He embraced the younger man.

"Aye, I suppose so."

"What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing. It's my shoulder that's messed up."

"Oh."

There was a lull in the conversation, as both men stared at each other, appraising one another. Both had changed, but neither was truly different. Daniel's hair had started to gray, but the silver threads were difficult to see among the blond. His eyes were the same brown so near to black, though the crow's feet were more apparent now. His back was a little more bent than it had been, and his hands more callused by the years. He was still the same man, with the same mischievous grin.

"Where've y'been?" he asked at last, and the man once known as Michael shook his head. By now, the ship's entire crew had heard, and they had grouped around the pair. They spoke not a word, but rather exchanged hopeful glances. It had been a long time since they had seen their captain, and most were the same men who'd been gathered in Tortuga now nine years past. There were a few new faces, and a few old were now gone, claimed by the sea or by other fates more pleasant.

"Too many places to name," Michael said, and paused.

Looking around at the men that surrounded them, Daniel shrugged. He said, "Let's go to your cabin and talk, Captain." With a sad smile, Michael nodded.

"I don't know where to begin," Daniel said.

Michael said nothing, pacing through the cabin. All was as it had been eight years ago. The same chairs were gathered around the same well-worn table, and the same charts were hung on the wall (though with age, their corners had begun to curl, and their letters begun to fade). There was a sword leaned against a desk, and it was still as bright as it had been, as if someone had set about the task of polishing it each day. Crossing to the desk, a beautiful piece wrought of oak and bolted to the floor, he saw that a half-finished letter was still laying there, to the then newly-appointed governor of Port Royal.

"Nothing's changed," he murmured. "You left it all as I did..."

"Aye," Dan told him, "figured you'd want everything where you put it... when you came back."

Michael nodded, and went to one of the chairs. He sunk into it, leaning his head back, speechless.

"We can set sail whenever you want, sir. The men will be glad to have their captain again."

"... Set sail?" he echoed.

Daniel opened his mouth to respond, and just then there was a knock on the cabin's closed door. A muffled voice spoke through it. "Jack is here to see you, Daniel," it said, and Michael flinched. _Surely not_, he told himself_, Jack is a common name. Could be one of many men._

"Send him in," Daniel said, and then he paused, "if you don't mind, sir."

"Not at all."

A few moments later, the door opened, and standing in the doorway was none other than Captain Jack Sparrow. Matthew closed his eyes, wondered if it was luck, or whether Jack had known, somehow figured it out when he'd overheard the story he'd told to Morgan. He reached into his pocket, stroked the small cat's fur, and frowned.

"Jack!" Daniel exclaimed. "Wonderful to see you, Captain."

He nodded, smiled slightly, and looked at Matthew. He arched a brow, and then tipped his hat deferentially. He held out a hand, and Matt took his own from his pocket and shook the one offered. "Captain Michael Raven, I presume," Jack said. Behind him, Daniel grinned.

"Captain Sparrow," said Michael by way of acknowledgement, withdrawing his hand and motioning languidly at a chair. "Please, sit." Jack obliged, but Daniel remained standing. Matthew's head was spinning, unsure how to balance two men who had entirely different conceptions of who he was without ruining his image, and without telling anybody any more than was absolutely necessary.

"So," Jack said casually, "I see that you found him at last."

"He found us, actually," Daniel informed him.

"Aha," he replied. Turning to 'Michael', he said, "I've heard a great deal about you." Matthew smiled vaguely, trying to balance his thoughts, unsure of his position. His only chance would be if he could get Daniel out of the room for a moment before Jack spilled anything, or tried to use his knowledge as leverage.

"Daniel," Michael said, "could you excuse Captain Sparrow and I for a brief moment? I'd like to discuss something with him in private." Daniel looked perplexed, but simply shrugged and nodded. He went to the door, and hesitated a moment. "I'll call you back the moment we're done. Thank you." He left.

Matthew stood, turning on Jack, who looked at him with a slightly amused expression. "So," he said, "I see you've been hiding more than I originally thought. I take it Daniel has no idea as to your true identity, does he?" Matt shook his head, and Jack smiled. "That's interesting." He didn't respond, so Sparrow continued, "When are you leaving?"

"Leaving?" Matthew echoed.

"Aye," Jack said, "I figger, since y'found yer ship, you'll probably be leaving soon, won't you?"

"No."

"And why's that?"

Matthew smiled weakly. "Because, Jack. My place is on the _Pearl_"

"Is it, now?"

"Yes."

"Then why, might I ask, are you here?"

"Because this is... was my ship, once. Not just a ship I sailed on, she was _mine_. She's not as grand as the _Pearl_, I grant you, but I loved her well. And then I lost her. Until now, I thought that Daniel must just have thought me dead, and taken her as his own, and that was fine, I knew he'd treat her well." He paused, and shook his head, "But then you told me that they were looking for me... that my crew and my ship were still searching for their captain, and I missed her.

"I came to say goodbye, Jack. To tell Daniel the _Aurora_ is his, and that it has been for the past eight years. I came so I can take what valuables I left in this room eight years ago, buy myself some rum, and go back to the _Pearl_ and sleep... that is, if that's alright with you, Captain."

Jack Sparrow met Matthew's eyes, and smirked. "Why should I trust you?" he asked.

The other laughed, though it was a harsh, forced sound. "Trust me? Jack, you should never _trust _me. I'm a pirate. However, you should believe me because I haven't got a reason to lie. If there's no profit in it, why bother?" Neither spoke for a moment, and then with a gentle sigh, Matt said, "Now, am I welcome back on the _Pearl_ or not?"

"Aye," Jack consented.

"Great... now would you do me a huge favor?"

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll buy you some rum."

Jack grinned, and nodded.

"Great," Matthew continued, "see that chest in the corner?"

A few moments later, Jack and Michael emerged from the captain's quarters. Daniel turned, and went to his captain, looking at Captain Sparrow curiously. Jack was laden with a wooden chest that had previously rested on the floor of the cabin, and was gritting his teeth because the thing was quite heavy.

"I'm leaving now," Michael said.

"But, Captain--"

Michael interrupted him. "Give me your hand, Daniel." Confused, he did as was bidden. Matthew pressed the hilt of a sword into his palm, the same well-polished sword that had rested against his desk. "I'm not your captain anymore," he said. "The _Aurora_ is yours, mate. She's been yours for the past eight years. Claim her."

"But... where are you going to go?"

"The _Black Pearl_," Matthew said, "Captain Sparrow and I have an agreement."

"You just got here, Mike," Daniel protested.

"And now I have to go. Treat her well."

Daniel frowned, shaking his head. "Whenever you want 'er back, she's yours," he said. The man called Michael smiled faintly, and clasped Dan's shoulder with his undamaged hand. He nodded, not in agreement or consent, more a sort of acknowledgement of something he knew it would be useless to attempt to change.

"G'bye, mate," he said, and turned away. He ushered Jack head of him, and stepped towards the gangway before he stopped, then turned. "By the way, next time you see me, if I'm not on the _Aurora_, call me Matthew." With those words, he walked away, and disappeared into the evening. The new captain thought the whole thing was strange; after eight years, Michael had appeared out of the blue, and less than thirty minutes later he left again, this time with no promises, no guarantees. He left only a sword, and instead of an explanation, a request to be called Matthew.

"What the hell is in this damn box anyway?" Jack asked, trying to adjust the chest so it would be easier to carry. It was heavy. Matthew simply smiled at his misfortune, and shrugged his right shoulder lazily.

"Let's go home," he said, and the other gave him a perplexed expression as they walked down the emptying street.

"Home?" he echoed, "I thought that was in Tortuga?"

Matt shook his head, "Not anymore." When Jack's confused stare did not vanish, he said, "Later."

"The _Pearl_then?"

"Aye, the _Pearl_."

"You still owe me rum," Jack said, and Matthew honestly laughed for the first time in days.

**Author's note: **Aha, Michael is at last explained. Jack and Matthew are on reasonably good terms for the moment... hint: that _will_ change, but I won't say how. It's a secret! I have no idea what's going to happen next. I have a tendency to write myself into corners, and then suddenly I think, "Oh! I'll do (this)!" and it all works out. To all of you who have asked the question: I still have no idea if this is going to turn out to be a romance or not. I do have some ideas for later chapters, but how often can you expect a pirate to be entirely honest? I'm still trying to figure out how to write the next fifty-two days of stuff before everything gets turned upside down... but I won't tell you how!


	24. 23: Unexpected

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 23. Unexpected  
Summary: Matt and Jack enjoy a couple bottles of rum. Jack had a conversation with someone else.  
Timeline: Monday, June 13, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Alcohol had made their thoughts fuzzy, and the rum settled like warm coals in the pits of their stomachs. Matthew had yet to buy Jack the rum he was owed, but the captain had gone to his own private supply and fetched two bottles. They stood on legs made a little unsteady by drink, and watched the streets in quiet contemplation... almost.

"An' then," Jack said, "they made me their chief!"

"The cannibals made you their chief?"

"Aye!"

"... And this helped you get off the island exactly how?" Matthew asked dubiously, and Jack's grin faltered momentarily.  
"That's a different story entirely," he compromised.

"Interesting, but for the record, it doesn't count."

Jack looked confused. "Count for what?" he asked, feigning innocent.

"Your debt. It has to be at least _half _true, Jack."

"Damn," he said, taking a swig of kill-devil. Matthew mimicked the action, grinning into the bottle's neck. They stood side by side at the starboard rail, and for once there we no doubts between them. Rum made it easy to forget their differences, and what might soon become mutual distrust. Suspicious about the other's intentions were disregarded for the moment, and they remained in quiet companionship, each with a bottle of the sacred drink in hand.

"Matt?" Jack asked suddenly, Matt rewarded him with a cocked eyebrow and a curious expression.

"Yeah?"

"You said you couldn't go home... in Tortuga, I mean. Why is that?" Jack's expression was strangely earnest. The fact was, while on previous occasions the pair had acted perhaps more under the influence than they really were, both of them were now too thoroughly drunk for guile. Matthew smiled vaguely, taking a drink to wet his lips before he spoke.

"They found it... 'fore they came t'the _Pearl_. I can't risk going back now," he said, sounding almost sad. He shrugged his shoulders, "Not important."

"I'm sorry, mate," Jack offered.

"Don't worry about it," said Matthew, then paused. "By the way, Jack... I wanted t'apologize. When I shot Roger, I coulda killed you. It was a stupid thing to do."

He shook his head. "Son," he said, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," as if this explained everything. He then draped one arm around Matt's shoulders in a friendly manner, and dropped his voice to whisper conspiratorially, "Don' tell anyone, but you're welcome aboard me ship as long as you want to stay."

While Miriam might usually have flinched away from any man's touch, she was too drunk to care, and instead leaned against Jack slightly. "Why shouldn't I tell anyone?" she asked.

"They'll think I'm goin' soft," he said.

She smiled. "Thanks, Jack." He was about to respond, to say something along the lines of 'don't mention it', but the words died in his throat. Rum-moistened lips pressed his cheek gently, pursed and warm they brushed the stubble that grew along the line of his jaw. It was not something he had expected, and with a sort of shock he reflected that Matthew was, in fact, a _woman_. He took his arm from her shoulders to touch the spot where her mouth had lingered for less than a second, and as he did so, she receded from his side. He stared after her in a haze of bewilderment, barely hearing the distant 'goodnight' she uttered.

With callused fingers he prodded his left cheek. It was the same place that had sported the bruise when she had punched him, and now the flesh felt just as tender, though for vastly different reasons. _Woman_. He considered the word, his drink-addled brain trying to decipher its meaning, and failing miserably. "I need more rum," he thought out loud, examining the bottle. Leaning heavily on the rail to support himself, he concluded, "Yes, I _definitely_ need more rum," and he took a large draught.

Miriam stumbled in an ungainly manner down the stairs, leaving Jack to his contemplation of questions he could barely comprehend. The bottle was still clutched firmly in her right hand, and she hoped she did not fall; she would be unable to catch herself if she did. With more luck than she could have dreamed for, she made it past the gun deck and to the mess unscathed, and finally to the cabin she called her own. She placed the rum atop the chest which rested in the corner of the closet-sized room, and tumbled haphazardly into the bed. Morgan appraised her with typical feline superiority.

The woman laughed quietly at her small companion, reaching out a hand to rub behind its ears. "Oh, Morgan," she whispered as the youthful grimalkin descended cautiously from the curve of the window onto the mattress next to her mistress, "you'll never guess what a stupid thing I just did." The warmth of the spirit was still fresh in her veins, and she could feel its fire in her throat and the depths of her belly. The heat in her lips was fueled by another source, but on this she preferred not to reflect.

It had been meaningless. She was drunk and thankful, and a kiss on the cheek was about as scandalous as a pious nun. It had been an innocent gesture of gratitude, and anyone who read further into it than that would be a fool. She did not need to assure herself these facts, for she did not doubt them, and so she was content to roll over and close her eyes. Still fully clothed, she slipped into the deep sleep that was commonly induced by alcohol, and Morgan curled up contentedly at her side,

She awoke a couple hours later, when the sound of glass breaking roused her from her slumber. With a groan, she first saw the shattered glass of what had been a half-filled bottle of rum, and then the form of Morgan standing on the chest. The kitten's fur was on end, probably frightened by the crash. Her thoughts fogged by sleep and the first pangs of an oncoming headache, Miriam dragged herself into an upright position. She hauled herself from the bed, wincing as the glass cracked beneath her boots.

"But she's so... untrustworthy!" Jack argued, still standing at the rail where she had left him. The bottle of rum was damn near empty now, and he was alone. There was a pause as the ship creaked beneath his feet. Miriam stood unseen at the top of the stairs, watching his exaggerated hand motions as he talked to the air.

"I'm a pirate!" he said, and was silent another moment before responding to some unheard voice, "Precisely." The ship groaned again, rocking gently with the tame waves of the dock.

"Because she's a woman, and women can't be pirates," was his patient explanation, followed quickly by the declaration, "That's _different._... It just _is_. Matt hasn't got a _reason_ to be here. She's got a home, money, no reason in the world to be out here playing pirate."

She'd heard enough only after a minute of standing there, and snuck silently down the stairs once again. Jack continued his argument. "Of course not," he said. "Piracy is about freedom, desire... It's about chasing the horizon. The riches are just a side benefit."

The _Pearl_ groaned loudly at his lack of comprehension. He was never entirely sure if she was actually speaking or if he was just drunk and imagining things. However, she seemed to do it on a regular occasion, and because she became angry if he ignored her, he thought it best to respond. _My point,_ she informed him in her silent voice.

"But she's got her own ship, the _Aurora_," he complained, "she doesn't need us, doesn't need you." She seemed to sigh. _And how do you know that?_

"That's a ridiculous question. And why do you keep asking me--"

_Because_, she interrupted him, _otherwise you're an idiot. But how well do you know her? Do you know what she wants, what she needs to have the freedom you so prize? There's more to freedom than just a ship, Jack. If you're chained to your past, how free can you really be?_

"I hate it when you make sense," he said. "And why do I feel like you know plenty that you're not telling me?"

_Because I do._

"Then tell me!"

_No. Because if I do, you'll lose interest, and that interest is what I'm counting on._

"Counting on? What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded, but there was no response. "Hello?" he called into the darkness of the night, until he concluded with a heavy sigh, "Damn, she's gone."

**Author's note: **Ahh... sorry, took way too long to post this. I was going to write more, but I want to put _something_ up before I go to bed tonight, so this is it. I suppose it's a decent length. Enjoy. Cuteness.... And it occurs to me that it would probably be physically impossible to drink this much rum; they would both be dead.

**Review Responses:**

_PuckNofae_I'm glad you love it! I thought this chapter was cute. The idea of Jack talking to his ship was actually suggested to me by a friend of mine, and I must say it worked quite well.

_ping__pong5: _Thank you. Again, it was suggested to me by a friend of mine. As soon as I figure out what to write about in chapter 24, I assure you, I will write it.

_DaydreamBeliever14: _Jack's a goofball. He's funny. You can expect future arguments with the _Pearl_ Miriam may even hear her later.

_heather321: _Sorry!

_ChocolateEclar_All your questions will be answered in the next chapter.... I think. I think I said that once about Caroline, and you guys still don't know what happened to her. Next update will be very soon!


	25. 24: Morning After

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 24. Morning After  
Summary: Jack. Pity him.  
Timeline: Tuesday, June 14, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

_"Luv," he said, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" The girl laughed cheerfully and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was beautiful, with lustrous raven tresses that coiled in loose waves about her shoulders. Her eyes were the palest ocean grey, and her smile was positively inviting, formed by the most perfect set of lips he'd ever laid eyes on. Yes, this was surely the loveliest girl in all __Tortuga__, if not the world. He couldn't wait to get her upstairs..._

_Just as those delightful lips pressed gently and affectionately against his cheek, he reeled back in shock and pain. Blood leaked from his mouth and he tentatively he pressed his hand to where the wench had kissed him, where he was certain a bruise was now forming. Cautiously, he looked up to face the dark shadow of his assailant._

_"I thought I told you to stay the hell away from her, Jack," Bootstrap warned, and Jack saw that his friend's hand was clutching the hilt of his cutlass. He struggled to stand, but found that he _was_ already standing, with his back to a wall._

_"I was jus' trying to help her, mate," he reasoned with a winning smile. Bootstrap's frown only deepened, and another voice interjected._

_"Like hell you were," it said, and Jack saw that the girl had not gone after all. Except now her hair was shorn close to the skull, and her eyes were as bright and dangerous as lightning. The smile she had worn was gone, and in her hand was a pistol with its cold barrel's end pressed to his forehead. "You're just as bad as Barbossa," she told him, "if not worse."_

_"That's not true," he said, and the sound of his own voice was alien to him, because Jack Sparrow had never in his life begged in such a manner. "William, c'mon mate, you know that's not true."_

_"Why not, Jack?" William asked, and his tone was dark and cold, completely without emotion, "After all, you killed your best friend."_

_"I didn't!" Jack shouted, but Bill Turner was gone, as was Matthew. Instead there was Barbossa with a cutlass in his hand, and a grin cruel enough to make the devil himself cringe._

_"Off ye go," he said, and tossed a gold coin into the water. It was then that Jack realized that the wall and floor were gone, and that he stood on the edge of a plank over the ocean, only this time there was no island in the distance. He would not let Barbossa take his ship, not for a third time, it just couldn't happen. But it did, because he found that he was falling, and that the water was cold and it burned his lungs as he went under. There was loud _thud_, as cannons going off in the distance._

Jack woke in a cold sweat, tangled in his bed-sheets. He was sprawled on the floor of his cabin, and his head was pounding. His lungs still felt as if they were on fire, and there was an unfamiliar ache in his heart. He made no attempt to get to his feet, his limbs felt like lead weights attached to his torso with barbed wire, and he knew all too well they would not respond. _If I didn't know better, I'd almost think I was hung over, but I didn't_-- but the thought was interrupted. There were not one, but instead two bottles of rum lying on their sides not even a foot from his position on the floor.

"Alright," he said aloud, "I _did_ have that much rum." Silently, he wished he remembered more of the previous night. He'd been on the quarterdeck with Matthew, and they'd talked and gotten drunk, and then Matthew had (_Miriam_, Jack reminded himself, _definitely Miriam) _kissed him. Jack had remained above deck two, maybe three hours after she'd left, and he'd talked to the _Pearl_, and finished his bottle of rum. Then he'd gone to his cabin, and then what? _You opened another bottle, you fool._

But why? _Oh yes_, he remembered, _because you thought rum would help you understand. _Understand what? _Why that girl kissed you. _Oh, yes. With a groan, he faced the inevitable. Slowly and painfully, he dragged himself into a sitting position, and leaned back against his bed. He wrapped his sheet around his shoulders, and disgustedly kicked one of the empty bottles away from him. _Why did it matter?_ This was the one thing he could not understand. Why did he care that she'd kissed him? He'd been kissed by enough wenches to know one kiss wasn't important, especially not one so negligible that it was placed on the cheek. But he _did_ care. It wasn't important, and it hadn't meant anything, but last night he'd felt... different, when her lips had grazed his jaw for that brief, irrelevant moment.

"That's it," he decided, "that girl has _got_ to go." Any girl who got him to think about how he felt 'different', and what had made him feel that way _definitely_ had to leave. 'Different' could lead to all sorts of things he didn't even want to contemplate, and Captain Jack Sparrow certainly did not have time to even consider contemplating them.

_Unfortunately,_ he was reminded not by his own mental voice, but that of the _Pearl_, _you're stuck with 'that girl'. If you don't remember, and it wouldn't surprise me if that's the case, you told her last night that she was 'welcome aboard your ship as long as she wanted to stay'._ Jack cursed loudly both at himself and his ship. _And don't give me that_, she said, _you got yourself into this mess._

"But I didn't _mean_ it," he argued.

_You think I care? You said she could stay, and she's staying, whether you like it or not. But I do suggest you get used to it, Captain Sparrow, because I have the feeling that the pair of you will be encountering some rough sailing in the very near future._

"What's that supposed to mean?"

_Don't say I didn't warn you,_ she told him curtly. _Now get up, it's getting to be late in the morning, and your crew's waiting for you. And don't tell me you're hung over either, because that's your own fault as well. Oh, and you might want to avoid __Port Royal__ for the time being._

Jack was not only confused, he was mystified, or maybe 'bewildered' was a better word. In any case, the _Pearl_ had completely lost him and then gone, because all was quiet except for the gentle creaking of the ship and the distant voices of the crew beyond the door. _This is going to be a very long day, _he thought.

**Author's note: **Alright, ChocolateEclar, your questions were _half _answered... maybe. This chapter was IMPOSSIBLE to start writing, but after I got going it went alright. I don't think I've had an "only jack" chapter yet, and it's about time I did. I've certainly had enough that centered mostly around Miriam. Jack needs a chapter where he's the star, even if he is a very hung over one. I feel rather sorry for him. I think the secondary genre of this story should probably be "angst". What do you guys think? Thank you to Eury for my chapter title.

**Review Responses:**

_DaydreamBeliever14: _Consider it compensation for the fact that the next chapter very likely will contain neither Jack nor Matthew. I'll say no more.

_heather321: _First off, I never said the _Pearl_was actually speaking. Jack _thinks_ she can talk, but we all know the Captain's a little off his rocker, so he could very well be imagining it. So the ship may not actually be talking, Jack may just be a little more insane than we thought he was. You may notice that she almost functions as a conscience or his "better half" reminded him of the things that he can and cannot do. Secondly, the _Pearl_ is obviously a supernatural ship (how else could it be the fastest ship in the Caribbean with sails full of holes? Besides which, the writes said as much in their commentary), so maybe her supernatural-ness allows her to speak. Now I'm not saying that she can, but I'm also not saying she can't. These are all questions to be answered at a later date. And if Aztec curses can turn men into undead skeletons, why can't a ship share a few words (however derogatory) with her Captain? Wow, this is a long review response.


	26. 25: Less Than Apologies

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 25. Less Than Apologies  
Summary: Avoidance and other occurrences.  
Timeline: Wednesday, July 21, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

They had made an art of avoiding one another. No words had been exchanged between them for some weeks in fact. Orders were pass from Jack to Matthew through Gibbs, and there was not a crewmember who failed to notice that they were never on the same deck at the same time, never mind in the same room. No one dared to ask the reason for their sudden falling out, as even mentioning the other's name to one of them would earn a steely glare. Jack, as far as Matthew was concerned, was only (and this grudgingly) "the captain", and Jack would acknowledge Matthew only as "the second mate."

No one asked why their apparent friendship had deteriorated over night, although neither of the pair would have had any explanation. It had started simply enough. Matthew, insulted by Jack's one sided monologue she'd overheard, had decided to avoid him until he redeemed himself in her eyes. As time passed, his words which at first had rung so cruelly in her ears, had faded from her memory. Eventually, she'd forgotten the incident entirely, but continued avoiding him.

Jack, for himself, has been plagued by dreams. Identifying Matthew as their cause, he had decided to avoid her until the dreams (more accurately described as nightmares) stopped. Unlike Miriam, who avoided Jack at first because of something he had done, Jack steered clear of her because he could not understand her, and was beginning to be confronted, because of her, which a great deal more things he did not understand. He had not had a nightmare since he'd taken back his ship, until she'd shown up. They had, after a time, ceased, but he'd become ingrained enough in the habit of avoidance that he simply forgot to stop.

It took a while, but each eventually noticed that, not only were they avoiding the other, but the other was avoiding _them_. This had become their reason for the continued circle of evasion, the childish logic of "if he is avoiding me, I will avoid him, too." If either had been more spiteful, he might have decided to force his presence on the other, and break the ongoing cycle that way. However, neither of them were given to spite in this particular incident, and so nothing happened.

Besides that, the _Pearl _continued sailing and plundering much as she had for all of recent memory. Jack was still jovial and dazedly insane, and his hair was still the same knotted mess that it had always been. Some suspected he might have been drinking more than he had at one time, but knew better than to discuss it. Matthew still mingled with the crew and laughed and he still, as he had since his shoulder had been injured and Morgan had been introduced, spent much of his time occupying the ship's cat.

-

She had been counting the days, impatient as a child who cannot wait until Christmas. Eight weeks, the doctor had said, but six at the least. Miriam had waited eight as she ought, but when she woke on that final morning, the bandages would come off. She stretched her good arm, feeling the ache in her left arm to do the same. Beneath the bandages, her shoulder felt whole, mended. Since they'd first been knotted, the wraps had gradually slackened. Atrophy from lack of use had, she knew, weakened the muscles of her arm and shoulder, and she would not be as strong in her left arm as her right. But she could feel that it was healed, and the strength could be rebuilt.

With trembling fingers, Miriam unbuttoned her coat with her one hand, and then set about untying the knot at her neck that held the entire arm in place. When it was undone, one-handed still and nervous she unravelled each layer of bandage, until she could cast the entire thing on the floor at the side of her bed. From the nearby side table, Morgan watched curiously as her mistress, who she'd only ever known as one-armed, lifted her arm cautiously, wincing until she could stretch it no further. She grinned despite the pain of the cramped and unused muscles. Matthew was whole again.

She, with two hands now instead one, went about unfastening the front hooks of the corset she had been forced to wear for the past eight weeks. It was only when it was cast away that she gasped at what had become of her body. Her breasts had grown, but that was not what bothered it. It was the roundness of her stomach the surprised her, it's seemingly sudden tendency to bulge.

"Showing," she said pathetically to herself, staring at the ceiling to try and keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks, "I'm showing." For weeks she had been oblivious to the changes in her body, determined to ignore the symptoms of her pregnancy, as if she could wish the child within her womb out of existence. It had not worked.

_It's not that I didn't believe Jack,_ she thought, _I didn't think he was lying. I just hoped he was wrong._ She knew she could not have just suddenly gained weight. She cursed her bad luck, cursed the baby she would be forced to have, cursed herself for the carelessness that had led to all of it. More than that, she cursed the loneliness in which she was forced to carry this child, trying constantly to play a role while inside her that _thing_ was growing. She would be forced to away from the ship soon, to sneak off into utter solitude, to live a lie greater than the one she was already living. She had no one to confide to, no one to whom she could spill her secrets.

Words rang in her ears, from a memory. _Everyone has to tell someone, because if they don't, it will eat them alive. Now you can tell me, or you can't. But if you don't, you can't tell anyone else; there isn't anyone else to tell._ Resigned, she reached for the bandages she'd disregarded and left lying on the floor, and began to tie them around her chest to hold it in. These strips of cloth, she knew, would not hold _everything_ in: not her stomach, nor her child, nor her pain.

-

'Captain Sparrow frowned, brushing knotted tendrils of his hair out of his face and over his shoulder. He was reviewing the ship's inventory, quill in hand, marking on a separate sheet of paper supplies they would soon need. _Running low, _he thought, _damn it all to hell. _His cursing was interrupted by a sharp knock on the cabin's door, and his frown deepened. He did not expect to be disturbed this morning, or any morning, especially since he had ordered that no one should even _approach_ his door before the sun was at it's highest in the sky.

"Come in," he said gruffly, letting his annoyance show in his voice. He hoped to hear a muffled, "sorry, cap'n" and the sound of receding boots, but instead the double doors creaked open, closed and locked.

He stood and turned away from the desk, and standing just in front of the closed door he saw someone he did not expect. It was Matthew, dressed in red shirt and waistcoat, his cutlass on his belt at his right side as if his left arm could use it. His arms we folded across his chest, a coat (_my coat,_ Jack realised) folded over them.

Holding the coat out to Jack with his right arm, Matthew said, "As I no longer need this, I thought it might return it to you." Jack took it, seemingly suspicious, and draped it over the back of the nearest chair.

"Thank you, sailor," he said crisply, and waited for his second mate to leave. Matthew stood there in silence for a long moment, looking at Sparrow with dark eyes.

"Jack," he said finally, daring to call his captain by his first name, and for this Jack looked at him with furrowed brows, the corners of his lip turned downward in what was almost a frown. Gathering his nerve, he went on despite Jack's disapproving glare. "You said… you said I had no one to tell except you, back when… well, you remember," he said, "and although I wanted to deny it, you were right. I'm in a similar situation, and it's going to 'eat me alive,' as you said, if I don't tell someone, and you're all I've got."

Jack Sparrow was confused. He had not spoken to him and weeks, and suddenly Matthew (_Miriam?_) had shown up saying he needed to tell him something. Before he could say anything consenting to the conversation, Matt went across and sat on the bed. His eyes softened somewhat as he looked at Jack, and his voice lost its gruff edge. "Please, Jack," Miriam said, in a tone that he could not help but take pity on. He went and sat next to her, and was surprised when the girl leaned against him. Not knowing what else to do, he put his arm around her shoulder in what he thought was a comforting manner. He felt her muscles tense, but she did not push him away, and after a moment she relaxed.

"What is it?" Jack asked, not in the thoughtful or caring tone one might expect, but instead in one that was mildly confused and perhaps showed a hint of irritation. She did not seem to care, or even notice.

"Time's up," she said, "or rather, I'm out of time." When Jack's expression showed not even the slightest hint of understanding, she went on, "I'm showing. Maybe to you I just look fat, but anybody who knows better can see that I've got this parasite child growing in my gut."

Jack understood why she had come, could see the resignation and defeat in her face. "I love this ship, Jack. I love her like no other, and her crew, and God help me, I even have a spot in my heart for her captain that isn't as hard and cold as stone, as irritating as he may be sometimes. But I'm out of time. I can't stay, I can't be the ship's pregnant whore when they all see through this cloth and these bandages."

Her voice showed pain that was equal to his when he'd lost the _Pearl_ those years ago. Despite himself, he wrapped his other arm around her and held her, though she didn't cry. Miriam let her head rest against his chest, and they sat in silence like that for what seemed a small eternity, until Jack said, very quietly, "There are other ways, you know… Medicines you can take, herbs." She shook her head.

"No. I can't do it. I don't know why, I just can't. This child is in me and it'll stay there until it decides to leave me, and after that, I don't know what I'll do."

"I understand," he said, and he did, as best as any man could. After a moment, he released her from his arms, and said gently, "Go to your cabin, and stay there. I'll think of something, and I'll be down in not long at all."

She nodded, and suddenly, as best she could with one arm still recovering from injury, she hugged him, and smiled when he returned the gesture. A moment later they stood, and faced each other. Miriam's smile was slight, and though he could not explain why, Jack stooped slightly and gave her a very chaste, brotherly kiss on her mouth. She squeezed his hand for a moment, and then said, very quietly, "Thank you, Jack." Then she turned, and went out.

**Author's note:** It's been so long! Please don't hurt me! I don't even know if any of my old readers still exist. Meep. As a brief explanation for my extended absence, I've had a bit of upheaval in my own life, and found it difficult to decide whether or not continue to write this story in the direction in which it's heading. Eventually I've decided that whatever's going on in my life, this story shall continue as planned. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I've lost my notes, there may be some changes. My style may have changed a bit in the past few months as well, but hopefully it's improved instead of deteriorated. The only question now is how fast are things going to happen?


	27. 26: Questions

Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 26. Questions  
Summary: Some unexpected guests arrive.  
Timeline: Wednesday, July 21, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Another knock on his door interrupted Jack Sparrow from his thoughts. He ceased pacing the cabin restlessly as he'd been doing for the past several minutes, and asked loudly of the door, "What is it?" 

It was Anamaria's rough voice that answered him. "Y'oughta come see this, Cap'n," she said. Jock nodded to himself, gave what was meant as a noise indicating the affirmative to the closed door, then took a moment to adjust his composure from that of a worried man to the demeanour of the carefree pirate captain he preferred the world to see him as. After no more than a few seconds had passed, he emerged on deck with a gold-toothed grin on his face and his affected sea-legged stagger.

"What should I be seein, luv?" he asked, but the question was unnecessary and she knew it. He had immediately seen the approaching vessel, a small but sea-worthy crap with a white flag high on her mainmast. A Union Jack flew below the white flag, and while the _Black Pearl_'s captain was wary, he was sure his ship could outgun what would be a much smaller opponent. Squinting against the late morning sun, Jack could make out three figures standing at the prow of the shit, two in trousers and one in skirts. His brows furrowed comically in consternation.

"Wonder who it is and what they's be wantin'," Anamaria pondered aloud at his side.

Jack shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, "Don' know," he replied, "but I wager we'll know soon enough." Louder, in what he privately referred to as his "captain's voice", he shouted, "Prepare to be boarded—and somebody get a bloody plank over here!"

It was some minutes before the other ship, which Jack soon identified as the _October Rose_, came up alongside the _Pearl_.

"Permission to board?" a voice came from the other ship.

Jack grinned, recognising the owner of the voice as William Turner. Beside him was his wife Elizabeth, who wore a grin nearly as savage as her husbands. _Shame those two live like 'civilised' people,_ Jack thought to himself. The second man, Jack assumed was the captain. He was nervous, but what honest sailor wouldn't be, bringing his ship alongside the famous pirate vessel?

"Granted," Jack called across the gap between their ships, "if y'll wait a moment, we've got a plank 'ere, and some rope."

Within several seconds, the pirates aboard the _Black Pearl_ had successfully secured the plank across the space between ships, and a line kept the two ships from drifting apart. Will crossed first, followed closely by Elizabeth. The _October Rose_'s captain preferred to remain aboard his own ship, and Jack did not blame him for wanting to.

"What brings the pair'o'ye t'me ship?" Jack asked, as soon as Will and Elizabeth were safely on board. "I mean," he went on, "I know y'love me an' find it hard to live without me, but I hardly expected y'to follow me 'round the Caribbean."

Will burst out laughing at the second part of Jack's dialogue, causing the pirate captain to give him an exaggeratedly hurt expression. As Jack muttered something about a need to find better friends, Elizabeth said in an undertone only the three of them could hear, "It's about Matthew, or rather, Miriam."

Jack sobered immediately. "We ought to go below decks then," he said, "if you'll follow me."

* * *

They found him sitting on his bed, sword unsheathed and laying across his lap. Matthew stared intensely at it, ran his hand over the handle and the flat of the blade. He did not look up as the key turned his lock and the door opened. 

Jack looked at him, with pity in his heart that did not show in his kohl-rimmed eyes. _As if she plans to cut the child out of her stomach, _he reflected, but despite the nature of his thoughts, he grinned and ushered Will and Elizabeth in before him and closed the door behind.

"Matt," Jack said, and he was greeted with an empty expression, a face that was an emotional blank slate. Seeing his guests, the emptiness was replaced by a frown.

"What are they doing here?" he asked sharply.

"Why, they've come to see you, of course!" While the pair looked at each other, Elizabeth and Will stood as much to the side as they could in the tiny room that was crowded by four people, a bed, and two closed chests.

"...Of course," Matthew echoed tonelessly. He stood and turned towards the newly arrived pair. With an added rough edge to his voice, he asked of them, "Why?"

Will edged closer to the one who called himself Matthew, although as he approached Matt crouched, scooping up the young cat Morgan who'd been anxiously skirting between the many pairs of feet. He stood again, and looked at William Turner expectantly.

"Miriam," Bootstrap's son said very quietly, and instead of the expression of shock Jack had expected, Matthew did nothing but smile sadly and shake her head.

"I should have expected you'd figure me out—although, I'd hoped you'd forgotten me."

Will shook his head, "I had. It was more a series of coincidences that spelled it out for me. Your visit, Elizabeth's realisation that you were a woman, and Commodore Norrington's arrival with the news that a woman by your name had been kidnapped by one Captain Jack Sparrow."

Miriam snorted at the last of the listed twists of fate, saying quietly something along the lines of "kidnapped indeed," before she looked at Elizabeth with an unusually honest smile. "I knew young William wouldn't marry a silly chit of a girl. I should have realised that a smart woman wouldn't be fooled by my disguise," she said. Motioning to the bed, she added, "Please, there's not a lot of room, but do have a seat." Elizabeth and Will sat on Matthew's bed, while Jack and Miriam with Morgan in her arms had to make due sitting on the large flat-topped chest Miriam had dragged to the _Black Pearl_ from her home in Tortuga. The other, round-lidded chest she'd retrieved from the _Aurora_ sat in the opposite corner near the foot of the bed.

"So," Jack said conversationally, looking in Miriam's general direction, "I kidnapped you?"

With a gentle laugh, Miriam gave a rueful shake of her head, "First I've heard of it, but if that's what the commodore thinks, it must be true." They grinned at one another.

Elizabeth frowned. Gently, she said, "The Royal Navy is after you, Captain Sparrow, to 'rescue' your 'captive'."

Miriam mirrored Elizabeth's frowned. "Rescue me?" she asked, "I'm hardly of any importance to them. I'm no noblewoman, and plenty of commoners have been kidnapped by plenty of pirates, and the navy never concerns themselves with them. Why bother with Miriam Sharp?"

It was Will who responded with a wry smile, "Norrington will go after almost any reason to get Jack, and this one just happens to be convenient." Addressing Jack, he added, "I think he regrets giving you that head start a year ago."

Jack laughed, "Aye, and he'll never catch me now."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

A slow smile spread across the pirate's face, and he spread his arms in an exaggerated manner, causing Miriam to duck, and he said, "Luv, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow... Savvy?"

Before Elizabeth could say anything, Miriam sat up, her brows knitted. "Why does our good commodore think Jack kidnapped me?"

Will shrugged. "The Royal Navy received an anonymous letter some time ago, apparently from pirates, claiming to have kidnapped a woman named Miriam Sharp, and they demanded a gold brick in payment for her return. The Royal Navy was about to send a letter of refusal, since Miriam Sharp was no one important that they knew of, when they received another letter saying an unknown person would be making the payment, and to please send a letter to Tortuga as directed by the pirates' letter informing them the gold would be aboard the _Lady Anne_ in a box of rum..." he trailed off and Miriam nodded.

"Of course," she said, "we stole that gold, so they assumed you'd kidnapped me, raided the ship, and simply weren't handing me over." She paused then, "But who footed the bill?"

Will shrugged again, "We don't know. No idea who they are, or how they came to know you'd been taken."

Miriam frowned, an expression repeated often amongst the four, "But the fact remains that _nobody kidnapped me_."

"I suspect," Jack said, "your old crew figgered you fer dead, and decided they could safely ask for ransom, and they would just... conveniently not return you."

The woman nodded, "That must be why they came after me after they found out I wasn't dead."

Elizabeth and Will looked at Jack and Miriam and in confusion. "If you'd care to explain?" Elizabeth said politely with a smile one might expect from the governor's daughter.

Miriam deposited Morgan into her lap and allowed the kitten to curl up and rest. She straightened her shoulders as she sometimes did before she launched into a tale. She began, "I was at my home in Tortuga one evening..."

* * *

"I still don't know what became of Caroline, but I suppose it's of no use worrying about it," she said, finishing her story. 

"So that's where your cat... er, Morgan, came from," Will said.

"Ship's cat," Jack amended.

"_My_ cat."

"Ship's—" he began again, but Will cut him off.

"Don't argue with a woman, Jack, when she's got her mind set on something, you'll never win."

Miriam and Elizabeth exchanged grins while Jack sighed exaggeratedly.

There was an extended pause in the conversation until Jack asked, "Will you two be returning to your ship, or will you be staying on with the _Pearl?_"

The pair looked at each other, exchanging look until Elizabeth said, "We'll be staying aboard." Jack smiled.

"One of you best be getting above deck and telling your fearful captain that, or else they'll be thinking I've taken two more captives, and I'm under the impression that's the last thing I need."

Will nodded and stood, and Jack opened the door for him and then followed him out. Elizabeth was about to stand when Miriam shook her head. "Please," she said, though she did not plead, "stay. It's been too long since I've talked to another woman as myself." Elizabeth smiled and settled back onto the bed, and Miriam pushed the door shut with the tips of her fingers. "I'm sorry to be an inconvenience."

"You're not."

"Thank you," the older of the two women said, and then she sighed sadly before smiling. "You're a lucky woman—he's a good man, I'm surprised every woman in town wasn't after him."

Elizabeth laughed, a gentle, lilting sound. "It's likely, I'll admit, but I don't know if he recognised anyone else as being female—or if I recognised anyone but him as male."

Miriam laughed in return, "That sounds like the William I knew as a child—whenever he wanted something, he'd do whatever it took to get it. A very determined child, and no different as a man, I imagine. Perhaps that is why he did not recognise me and you did."

They fell to talking quietly as women did, and Jack and William did not return. They spoke of many things, the freedom that Miriam saw in piracy, the safety that Elizabeth found in her happy marriage. Love was a subject much discussed, as well as men. They reminisced about their separate adventures with Jack Sparrow, and then chatted about the pirate captain's quirks for some time. Eventually they even discussed dress and fashion, something that Miriam had not been interested in for years.

"I've not worn a dress since I was... twenty, I think, and I'm now nine-and-twenty. Nearly a decade," Miriam confessed, "though I'll most likely be forced to resume the habit in the near future."

The younger woman looked at her curiously, "Why is that?"

"I will be forced to leave the _Pearl_ soon. It..." she trailed off, frowned, and then began again, "I love this ship, but it is no place to rear a child." She put her hand on her stomach.

Elizabeth clapped her hands together with delight, "You're with child?" she asked, "Oh, that's wonderful!" After a pause, she added another question, "Who is the father?"

The look in Miriam's eyes was dark, and her grey eyes were like the ocean's depths before a turbulent storm. "I don't know," she said honestly. Elizabeth's expression indicated she did not understand. "It's one of many men I would not have taken to my bed if I'd had any choice at the time." As understanding dawned on her, Elizabeth's face took on a look of disgust and extreme pity. Miriam's voice was cold, not out of cruelty, but rather a forced apathy that shielded her from the past, and she said, "Don't pity me. It's a risk I took, and I will accept the consequences of my actions."

Elizabeth looked at her as if she were insane. "A consequence? A _consequence _of your actions, Miriam? I refuse to accept that—that _rape_ is a _legitimate_ consequence of piracy!" she exclaimed in shock.

Miriam put a finger to her lips in a motion for silence, then put that hand to good use, stroking Morgan's head. "Elizabeth, not all good pirates are good men. Jack is both, and Will, and so are most of the men, and women, aboard this ship. But some pirates are out for more than freedom, they want things you'd rather not give, and when you sail with them, you take a risk. You risk that they might take what you'd rather keep to yourself. The second you set foot upon their ship, you take whatever hand is dealt to you, even if it is rape, even if it is a child you would not have chosen yourself." She was calm, not the woman who had crept up the stairs earlier that day and knocked tentatively on the door to Jack's cabin, needing an ear for her pain. She no longer felt; she had no more energy to feel that day.

"You're even crazier than Jack," Elizabeth said.

"Aye, maybe I am." _Indeed,_ she thought, _it's very likely. But what woman wouldn't be, after what I've endured?_

* * *

**Author's note: **As proof that I really am back and intent to write again, another chapter a day later! I'm on a roll, aren't I? Although I'm going on a small vacation within a vacation tomorrow, so it will be a few days before my next chapter, but still. Answers to a few questions, and then more questions after that. 


	28. 27: Surrender

Title: Of the SeaRating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 27. Surrender  
Summary: ... Put down your weapons.  
Timeline: Thursday, August 5, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Maris K.)

* * *

Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_ stood at the prow of his ship, staring at the vessel they were approaching. It floated desolately beneath the grey sheet that was the cloud-covered sky, its sails torn beyond repair. If its plight was real, Jack pitied her crew, drifting wherever the waves took them, waiting for death and about to boarded by pirates. There was, though, another possibility. Likely it was a trap, and the ship's holds were stuffed with food, and there was a perfect set of sails onboard. In any case, the _Pearl_ had little water and less food, and Jack knew they had no choice but to take what they could from the crippled ship.

They'd been running low two weeks ago when Will and Elizabeth had arrived, but now things were beginning to get desperate. Jack had teased the pair earlier in the venture, asking, "Aren't you glad you came aboard so you could starve to death alongside us?" The couple had quickly and easily discarded their "civilised" manners to adopt a pirate's life. Will's gentlemanly attire was completely ruined by society's standards. His wife had traded her expensive gowns for full-legged breeches, a torn linen shirt, and Matthew's discarded sea boots.

"We gonna take 'er?" a voice came from behind, surprising the captain.

"Got no other choice, 'less starving sounds fun to you," Jack said, and was shocked by the tired sound of his own voice. He looked sidelong at Matthew, who had come up beside him and stood with a solemn expression.

"Aye, I know it well. It's just..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"How you lost the _Aurora_," Jack finished for him.

"Aye. But as you say, we've no choice besides starvation."

"How'd you let her go?" Jack asked suddenly, again astounded by his own voice, the words his mouth formed as if he had no control over his vocal cords. "How could you stand on yer own ship and say 'she ain't mine' when everyone else said she was?"

Matthew smiled, the faint smile of a man attempting to share wisdom with a fool. "Ships are like women," he said after a thoughtful pause, "and whether he'll admit it or not, every man wants one to call his own. And there's always, _always_ that one girl, or that one ship, and the second he sees her, he knows: she's the one. And from that moment on, his heart is hers, and no matter how many others he sails or sleeps with, they won't be enough. And when he gets her, that's the only ship, or woman, whichever, he'll ever need. You know how it is; you've got the _Black Pearl_. I sailed _Aurora_, but she wasn't the one. I haven't found my ship yet," and he laughed, "nor my woman... though I doubt I'll ever find the latter."

Jack was silent during this monologue, and smiled when it ended, though that smile was quick in fading. Matthew leaned quietly on the rail next to his captain, looking curiously at the man who was usually so eccentric, who now stared out to sea with an unreadable expression.

"What's your ship look like?" he asked. "I knew for years in my head before I got her exactly what the _Pearl_ would be."

"Red sails," said Matthew simply, "I dream of red sails and a heart with crossed swords."

Jack lapsed again into silence, stared out at the sea and the broken ship.

"What's on your mind, Jack?"

_You_, he might have said, _and all the ways in which you confuse me_. Instead, he said very abruptly, as if shaken awake from a dream, "Nothing—just, nothing." No comical response came to his tongue, no quick quip to ease the tense air. _What in blazing hell is wrong with me?_ he wondered.

Matthew snorted. "An unlikely story," he said, "but I won't forced it out of you when you're sober and unable to defend yourself."

Jack smiled wanly. "Aye," he said, "that's mighty decent of you, innit?" Then he paused, a sudden silence, looking at Matthew from under furrowed brows, "How'd you know that?"

Matthew shook his head, "It's obvious, but don't worry, no one else has noticed. Keep grinning like an idiot and no one will, either." Changing the subject, he went on seamlessly, "I'll go get the crew, we'll be coming up on 'er soon." Jack nodded and went back to staring at the sea.

"Aye," he agreed emptily, listening to Matthew's receding footsteps.

* * *

"No plunder?" several members of the crew echoed Jack's ruling incredulously.

Jack nodded, "Aye, you heard me, and 'less you fancy a British noose for jewellery, I'd recommend you do as I suggest." He smiled gold and silver at the shaking of heads. "That aside, anything edible, we take. Gold is a beautiful thing, mates, but y'can't eat it."

There were a few nervous chuckles at that, and Jack gave more specific orders. Matthew was to stay aboard with "Lizzy", and while the pair frowned at one another, they understood the reasons they were to "stand guard". One of them was pregnant, the other's husband would be... most upset if she was injured. Will and Anamaria were to search the ship for sails, while Mr. Gibbs, Quartetto, Kursar and Cotton were to retrieve the spare white sails from the _Pearl _and bring them to Jack when the other ship's crew was, as he put it, "properly subdued." The other twenty-four pirates were to go down to the mess and the kitchens as soon as Jack gave the order and find all the food they could to bring back to _Pearl_. They were all to be safely back on board as soon as Jack gave that order.

"Savvy?" Jack asked. There was a chorus of ayes, but among them a few cries of "no" were scattered.

"Cap'n," one of them, a boy named Tom Black on the edge of manhood began cautiously, "an' I mean no disrespect t'ye, but, what's with all the quick and back on board soon as ye says an' all that?"

Jack's sigh was exaggerated and Matthew cut in quickly on his behalf. "Ever 'eard of Captain Mike Raven, lost his ship the _Aurora_ 'cos of a navy trap involving a stranded ship?" When the young man nodded, Matt gave a faint smile, though Jack thought it seemed edged with pain at having to use his own downfall as an example. "Aye," Matt went on, "so we be quick, get what we need and get gone 'fore the Royal Navy shows up to measure us fer chains."

Jack offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the _Aurora_'s former captain, and then said, "A'ight. Just about on 'er, so get ready t'board. If we're lucky, we're away scot free, and not about to starve, either."

He took the helm from Anamaria, bringing the _Pearl _up beside the vessel, a ship by the name of the _Queen's Mercy_. She had not struck her colours, had done nothing, and her crew looked at the pirate ship and her jolly roger with defeated acceptance before they were even boarded. The pirates, too, were quiet, setting out planks in silence, too tired and hungry for the screams and shouts that would have been useless to instil fear in a crew too tired to be afraid.

They crossed the planks, glancing sideways cautiously, as if expecting a navy ship to appear on the horizon at any second. Jack was the last to go, with the exception of those who had gone to fetch the spare sails. As he stepped up to the centre plank, a voice stopped him.

"Jack, wait," Matthew said, though the voice was Miriam's. He approached her as Elizabeth stared at the pair curiously. Reaching into the pocket of her waistcoat, Miriam withdrew a crumpled piece of parchment. "Your hand," she said.

He captain presented his calloused palm, and Miriam recognised the scar that obscured the crease she well knew on her own palm. She pressed the paper into it, and watching Jack as he examined it with dark eyes.

"Read it... later," she said.

"You mean to be gone, don't you?" Beside them, Elizabeth felt invisible, and to them, she was.

"I do," she answered. "Time's up, remember?"

"Aye, I do." With those words, Jack took the weather-beaten tri-corn hat from his head, and with a flourish he put it on Miriam. "I want it back," he said as she pushed it up when it fell over her eyes. She stifled a small laugh.

"Course, I'll give it back when I get my effects."

"Agreed," Jack said, and grasping his hand, Miriam echoed the word. They shook hands, and with a slight bow, Jack stepped onto the plank.

"G'bye, Matt," he threw over his shoulder.

"Good luck, Captain Sparrow," she responded quietly, turning away. A single tear, unseen, rolled down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. After a pause, she said, not turning back to the younger woman, "Liz, come with me, I'll need your help."

* * *

Things were smooth on deck of the _Queen's Mercy_. With a dazed expression, the captain of the ship watched as pirates deposited a set of sails on the deck. With a grin, Jack said, "hate to leave you stranded out here starving."

Turning on heel, he left the man to stare after him as he went to the stairs that Will and Anamaria had disappeared down some minutes ago. The rest of the crew waited for his signal. Instead, Jack called down the stairs and in a goading voice, "Come out and play, gentlemen." The only response he got was a bullet that whizzed past his head. The _Black Pearl_'s captain frowned. "Looks like the Royal Navy's thrown us a surprise party, he called, drawing his cutlass and backing away, taunting the navy into coming above deck. Silently, he cursed his luck even though he had got what he'd expected.

* * *

From her cabin on the _Pearl_, Miriam heard the first bullet fired, the first clashes of steel on steel. She could hear the cries of the pirates and the navy men locked in battle, and she hoped her plan would not fail.

She threw open the chest she'd brought from Tortuga, and rifled through it, tossing both books and item's of women's clothing aside.

"Do you think..." Elizabeth started anxiously behind her.

"Your husband will be fine," Miriam assured her. "I'll make sure of it."

* * *

On the deck of the crippled ship, all was chaos. The pirates fought the navy as best they could, though they were sorely out-numbered, especially when the crew of _Queen's Mercy_ leapt into the fray. None had yet fallen, a fortunate stroke of luck as far as Jack was concerned. Shortly after Commodore Norrington had led his men up the stairs, Will and Anamaria had reappeared behind them with swords swinging, a sight that brought a grin to Jack's face as he rushed to meet swords with the commodore.

The battle, intense though it was, was short-lived. A voice, strong and feminine called out, and a single pistol shot rang in the air. All paused, not knowing to follow the orders or not. "Halt," the woman cried, "cease your fire!"

Captain Sparrow knew the voice, and prayed to whatever gods might listen that the girl knew what she was doing. When she appeared, though, he did not recognise her.

Miriam stood proudly, her head held high, and Jack willed his jaw not to drop. Heads turned and sword-arms went slack as the men stared at the strange woman who walked among them. Her face was tanned and dirty, as were her hands, one of which was wrapped around a pistol's grip. Her eyes, as dark as the ocean's depths, glinted as bright and dangerous as the cutlass she wore tucked in the belt about her waist. Her black hair was windswept and cropped short, but this was all that Jack recognised of the one he had called Matthew.

She wore a gown of fine silk, the palest shade of grey. It was embroidered with tiny while flowers, the low-cut bodice make her gender obvious for once. The gown's full skirts were trimmed with fine lace, as were its cuffs and its neckline. She did not trip over the many layers of petticoats, nor did she mince carefully along as "civilised women" might. She waded through the paralysed battlefield, very much in her element, as if she were born to it. She was more lovely than any strumpet Jack had stumbled upon in Tortuga, outshining even Elizabeth, for even hemmed in as she was, Miriam's beauty was as untamed as the ocean herself.

Jack was relieved that Norrington was as stunned as he was himself, for their bodies faced one another in combat. It was lucky for the _Pearl_'s captain that his opponent, too, stared at the woman who approached them.

"Commodore Norrington," she said politely to one of the pair, though she offered neither bow nor curtsy. Looking at Jack, she said in a voice laced with spite any could recognise, "Captain Sparrow." Gently she beckoned them, "If you'll please follow me, gentlemen." After a pause, she called out, "And you too, William Turner, your wife is waiting for you." Will excused himself politely from his opponent, and found himself to the woman who had chaperoned him those years ago in their youth.

Jack and Will followed her without comment as she turned and walked away. Norrington paused uncertainly, asking, "Excuse me, miss, but where are we going and why?"

Without turning to face him, without even glancing over her shoulder, she said, "It's Miss Sharp, and we go to the somewhat less populated decks of the _Black Pearl_ to discuss the terms of a surrender."

* * *

"These are the terms," she said. "Firstly, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ will be returned to their ship. Secondly, Captain Sparrow will release his captives, Elizabeth and William Turner, and myself, Miriam Sharp, into Commodore Norrington's custody. Finally, the _Black Pearl_ as well as crew and captain will go free without pursuit, and upon our return to Port Royal, William Turner will be pardoned for aiding the pirates because he was forced to do so against his will."

No one spoke. "Commodore Norrington, do you agree to these terms "

"I don't understand—" he began, but Miriam cut him off.

"I am afraid I cannot explain the circumstances in this company, nor can I take you aside to explain. All I can tell you is that you must get me away from these pirates so that I may speak freely, and I can only do so if this man," she looked at Jack, "is leagues away." Her voice was filled with pleading and tinged with fear. "Please, I beg of you."

"Then, I..." he paused a long while, "I agree to these terms."

"Let it be heard and witnessed: Commodore Norrington agrees to and is bound by the terms of the agreement." She looked to Will and Elizabeth, the latter of which had returned to dress befitting her station, then to Jack. "Do you, Captain Sparrow, agree to these terms?"

"Aye," he said simply.

Miriam nodded. "Heard and witnessed, then. And so let the terms of the surrender be carried out."

She bend then, picking up Jack's tri-corn hat from where it had rested on an empty barrel. She tucked it under her arm, and looking at the man she had once called captain, she said with contempt in her voice, "I have many reasons, and none of them are selfless. I'll see you hang yet, Jack Sparrow."

"Good luck with that, Miss Sharp," he said in response.

As Miriam walked away, Elizabeth whispered into her ear, "Whose surrender was it?"

To which Miriam responded, "Mine."

* * *

While the _Queen's Mercy_'s crew replaced their torn sails with whole ones, Miriam watched the _Pearl_ vanish over the horizon. Her heart was heavy as what had been her freedom sailed away, leaving her behind to mourn its passing. She could do nothing but think of her letter in Jack's pocket and his old and battered hat in her hand.

In fact, her letter was not in Jack's pocket at all. It was on his desk in his cabin, and he leaned over it, smoothing its creases and examining her neat script. He read aloud, in a voice barely above a whisper.

_Jack:_

_I write this as I watch you watching the crippled ship we are approaching, and I know I will soon be gone. My heart screams betrayal because we both know it is a trap and I should convince you to let it be. But my time is over, and this is my best chance, and I have no choice but to go through with this and hope it costs you nothing, or at least, not as much as it costs me. My head is also screaming, screaming that I should not be so honest as I will be in this letter, but I feel there had been not enough honesty between us. I suppose we are pirates and should expect that, but sometimes I can't bear the lies any longer._

_I will miss the _Pearl_. She was more my home than any of the places I've lived, more my freedom than any of the ships I've captained (and there have been many). But I suppose all things, good and back, must come to an end, and my time aboard the _Black Pearl_ is no different._

_Although I can see nothing but salt-water stretching to the ever-distant horizon, I know that dry land is in my future. I've spent nine years as a pirate, jumping from name to name, ship to ship, and I regret nothing, except one thing... I regret the end: the moment I'll plant my two feet on solid ground with my life as a pirate behind me and my life as an old maid with an illegitimate child before me. I regret the moment when you'll let me walk away._

_If I told you I'll see you hang, that wasn't what I meant. What I meant was only that I'll see you, someday. I'll miss the _Pearl_, and I'll miss the dreams I never saw came true, the risks I never took, the ship I never found... and, maybe most importantly, I'll miss you, Jack... and Morgan. Please look after her, and yourself._

_Best of luck to us both. I think we'll need it._

_Yours,_

_Miriam._

Jack cursed quietly, folding the letter carefully and putting it in his desk's drawer.

"Bloody 'ell..." _This is no time to be sober, _he thought.


	29. 28: Captivity

Title: Of the SeaRating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 28. Captivity  
Summary: Port Royal and polite society.  
Timeline: September 13, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

She remembered well the words she had written. _I regret nothing, except one thing... I regret the end: the moment I'll plant my feet on solid ground with my life as a pirate behind me and my life as an old maid with an illegitimate child before me. I regret the moment when you'll let me walk away._ Her life since that moment had been nothing but regret, nothing but sorrow for the passing of dreams that would now never come true.

They said many things about Miriam Sharp in Port Royal. Some believed she was Jack Sparrow's lover, the child in her womb his get. Others claimed he'd raped her, while others claimed he'd kidnapped her and they hated each other. Some said she was a pirate born and bred, while most preferred to believe that she was wellborn and raised by good folk somewhere in England. There were many half-truths and even more full-out fabrications. Jack would have loved to hear all the stories if he'd been there, but he was oceans away.

They said she pined for the sea. They said that if one were to look at the third window from the right facing the sea, on the second floor of the Turner's house, you would see a pregnant figure in a gown with a tri-corn hat in her hands, staring out to watch the tides rise and recede. It was a rumour, but one of the few that was true.

There was only one other true tale that she had heard circulated, and it was told mostly by the crew of the _Queen's Mercy_. A storm had struck while the ship was headed for Port Royal, the greatest storm in the decade. The captain was ready to give up, when Miriam appeared on deck, wearing nothing but a soaked shift, a pair of sea-boots and a tri-corn hat. She had ordered the captain to stand aside, and in pitch darkness of the stormy night she had steered the ship clear of the rocky cliffs of Jamaica, laughing maniacally in the face of the flashing lightning. Miriam had shared a good many laughs over tea with Elizabeth and Will over the subject of that little escapade.

It was too bad that she had arrived in Port Royal two days later burning up with fever. She was lucky, the doctor told her, that her stupidity had not cost her the life of her child. _Unlucky,_ she thought, _very unlucky._ But that had been a month ago, and she no longer called out for Jack in her fever-dreams amidst cries of terror. More than once they had pinned her down trying to calm her delusions, but they only made it worse. She would struggle, screaming as if in agony, until she would suddenly say, very gently, "I can't breathe," and lapse into a death-like sleep until the cycle would repeat itself. It had been a month ago, and she now pretended that there had been no sickness. She pretended that she never woke up screaming in terror in the middle of the night, never whispered Jack's name to the darkness in a plea for help.

She could not pretend that she did not step out onto the balcony on nights when the moon shone on the water like a splash of silver. Elizabeth had seen her there, standing in the warm night wearing nothing but her shift and holding Jack's beaten old hat in her hand. It sat on her bedside table when it did not accompany her while she breathed in the sweet air that rolled on the ocean. She called it a war-trophy, but in truth it was the only thing that kept her sane. She felt like a caged bird, despite the Turners' best efforts. It was not their fault that Commodore Norrington would let her nowhere near any vessel that floated on the waves, never mind onboard. Although, to her relief, he did not stop her from taking her morning trips to the docks, where she would mingle politely with the sailors asking for any sort of news of the outside world. He would have, she supposed, if he knew. She made sure that he did not.

She asked for news because it kept her from feeling too trapped in the seclusion of Port Royal, and because there was the chance she might hear news of the _Black Pearl_. She had not heard much, only that they had raided a ship shortly after Miriam's release, and to everyone's surprise, had taken nothing but food and a large quantity of rum. When she had heard that, it had taken all her to frown at the mention of Jack's name when she would liked to have smiled at the stories of his antics.

Port Royal was tedious and dull, the town a prison or a birdcage. She was tired of constantly being fitted for dresses as her stomach grew, tired of being hemmed in by layers of fine cotton, linen or silk. She wanted nothing more than a shirt and a pair of breeches, but instead she had nothing but gowns and more gowns after that. She had succeeded only in keeping her sea-boots, insisting that normal shoes caused her intense pain. Elizabeth had tried to insist, saying people would think she was insane if she wore boots everywhere she went. The young woman had given in when Miriam swore she would rather cut her feet off than wear the ridiculous shoes others.

Of course, it wasn't the sea-boots that made the residents of Port Royal think there was something wrong with Miriam Sharp. She duelled with William Turner, the blacksmith, in the garden of the Turner residence. She ran long the beach in bare feet, splashing in the shallow water with her skirts hiked up above her knees. She stood on the balcony in the middle of the night in only a shift with Jack Sparrow's tri-corn hat in her hands.

It was one such night, and the moon was but the thinnest sliver in the starless sky. She stood with tri-corn hat in hand, a candle flickering on a small table at her side, scanning the horizon. The streets of Port Royal glowed dimly, lit by flickering oil lamps. The brightest part of the town was the docks, the end of each pier having a lantern at its end. Miriam would did not stare at the docks; there were ships tied to land, tethered. No, she looked out to the open ocean, at the black depths of the sea at night, and wondered where the _Pearl _was and which fortunes it sought.

The doorbell rang. She heard it, as if it were a great many leagues away, not merely downstairs. Turning away from the view, she rushed inside, leaving the doors to her balcony to swing open behind her as she ran from her bedroom. She trampled down the stairs, arriving at the door before mister or missus or servant could rise from sleep to see who called upon the Turners at such an hour of the night. She flung the double doors open, and looked out at the front garden. There was nothing, only an empty gravel road leading to the main street. It was then that Miriam heard a small, plaintive meow. It came from a wicker basket that sat on the doorstep with a red silk bow tied around its handle with a paper tag. The basket contained two objects: a pillow of red silk to match the bow, and a small black cat with eyes the colour of newly minted coins.

Miriam bent, lifting the animal with one hand. The other, after all, still held a worn leather tri-corn. A thin strip of leather with a silver clasp was attached about the kitten's neck, with a silver tag attached to it. The tag read in an elegant, but not overtly ornate script: "Morgan". Miriam grinned, clutching the purring animal to her chest before putting Jack's hat in the basket with Morgan and closing the doors. She went upstairs, not caring if the servants came and found only an abandoned doorstep and the silent night.

Upon returning to her room, Miriam sat down at her desk. She did not bother to close the French doors that lead to her balcony. She removed hat and kitten from the basket, and then examined the wicker creation. The paper tag attached to the silk bow had her name written in a neat but plain script. She knew the sender, but wondered if there might be a message of some sort besides just her dear pet. Upon removing the cushion, she found it: a folded piece of parchment and a sealed envelope.

She unfolded the parchment and read the not-quite-illegible script she recognised from another, less important piece of paper that had been handed to her by her captain on her last visit to Port Royal:

_Dear Miriam,_

_I'm sitting not too far from the Tuner household, writing this. I can only hope it is legible, it is very difficult to write in the dark. I'm watching you standing on what I'm guessing is your room's balcony in the darkness by a candle. You look out to sea like your heart is lost to it. That wouldn't surprise me. I would imagine the ocean, like piracy, is in your blood, as it is in mine, as it was in Bootstrap's. _

_I was going to let you go, but then I read that blasted letter of yours, and I couldn't. So I did the only thing I could do. I came here, with this cat of yours, and I'm writing this letter in response. I should warn you that I'm sober, and when I'm sober I act in strange ways, as other men do when they're drunk. Although, this time, it isn't for lack of alcohol. Drink just doesn't seem to help me make sense of things the way it used to. Some things are too complicated for rum to fix them. I never thought I'd say that. In any case, as I said, I'm sober, so don't take anything I write too seriously, I barely know what I'm saying myself._

_We're no longer starving, we raided a ship and got food. The crew is all well, although I daresay in shock. They do little but talk about Matthew's sudden transformation into Miriam. I pretend I knew nothing of it, but the smarter ones (Anamaria, mainly) look at me like they know better. Anamaria probably does, and I'm surprised she didn't find out for herself. Surprisingly, Gibbs hasn't once said anything about women being bad luck aboard ships._

_I'd be lying if I said the _Pearl _has changed since your departure. It hasn't, or at least, the ship hasn't and the crew hasn't, but the atmosphere is different. I guess I just got used to having you around, a dangerous thing. I thought about kidnapping you, again, according to popular myth, but I decided that would be a bad idea. Although I like bad ideas, being a pirate, I suppose thing one will have to wait. _

_I've included a small trinket along with this letter. Not Morgan. If you've found this piece of paper, I'm assuming you found the envelope too. You're still a part of my crew as far as I'm concerned, which means you get a share of whatever we take. I'm sure you've heard rumours that we took nothing but food, but as with most tales, that's not entirely true._

_I see you still have my hat. I miss that hat... I brought you Morgan, because I think she misses you, too. _

_Your captain,_

_Jack Sparrow._

She put the parchment down on the desk and picked up the envelope. Turning it over, she examined the wax seal, which bore a stamp in the shape of a ship. She tore the envelope open along the top, leaving the seal in tact. Turning it upside down, she let its contents fall onto the desk's wooden surface. One was a necklace or a choker of some sort, a round faceted stone of dark red hues set in silver. She recognised the large stone as garnet, and it was attached to a thick black ribbon with a silver clasp. The other object that fell from the envelope was a piece of coarse fabric. It was the canvas sails were made of, and it was dyed deep red. Miriam smiled, fastening the garnet about her throat. It fit perfectly.

She stood then, and ran to the balcony, the piece of canvas clutched in her hand. Looking down into the shadows she saw a figure that stood not so far off, a lantern in his hand. He grinned at her, putting his hand to the bandana that was tied around his head. It was a sort of salute, and she returned the gesture.

He turned then, and walked away into the night. She recognised his stagger, the permanent case of sea-legs that made her captain look so awkward on solid land. He was, after all, still her captain. She stood there a while, looking at the empty side-street for once instead of the ocean, until a small kitten brushed up against her bare feet, meowing quietly. Then she picked up the kitten and went inside, closing the balcony's doors behind her, and went to bed. That night, for once, she slept peacefully, and did not wake screaming.

**Author's note: **Poor, poor Miriam. Port Royal sounds pretty dull for a pirate forced to live in polite society. I do hope she'll survive. Nice of someone to pay a visit, even from a distance.

**Review responses: **

_ChocolateEclar: _A review! I was starting to get worried with four new chapters and not a single review, I thought I'd lost my entire following, however small. There is, at least, one left. On waiting for something to happen between Miriam and Jack, nope, there's nothing yet... although... (and as much as I hate to point stuff out, I thought this was so terribly clever), Jack says in his letter "Morgan misses you **_too_**" as opposed to just "Morgan misses you." _Wonder what THAT could mean? _Okay, I've spelled most of it out, I trust you to put two and two together. And yes, polite society is an awful thing for a pirate to withstand. I feel sorry for her kid, being born into that. Ick! The bulk of this chapter (and I'll put the timeline date stuff in later) takes place in mid-September while Miriam is 19 weeks pregnant, i.e. almost five months pregnant. So there's like four months left 'till the baby shows up, but I plan to have that span for the most part go by fairly quickly since Port Royal would be really boring to talk about. I covered over a month in this chapter alone, as you noticed. The next chapter should focus more on the _Black Pearl _and if doesn't, whine at me. As for the gender of the child, I'll tell you this: it's one of two things... male or female. I need to introduce some more male characters. Even the _cat _is a girl, but what can I say? Boys are gross! I mean, there's the _Cain_ but they're not very nice, are they? Expect a new chapter in the near future and WOW THIS IS A LONG REVIEW RESPONSE. I'm just starved for attention.

_dagzer: _Gasp! Another review! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!!! And stuck on land forever? Yeah, that'd suck. I guess it depends on what kind of person I am. Do you think I'm the sort of person who likes a happy ending, or the sort of person who's going to do something horribly mean, like kill Jack off and leave you with a horrible depressing ending?


	30. 29: Letters

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 29. Letters  
Summary: And the exchange thereof.  
Timeline: September 16 – September 30, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

"Kidnapped by pirates!" the woman exclaimed, with the same pity in her eyes that Miriam had seen in the faces of so many others, "It must have been terrifying!"

"Oh yes," Miriam intoned, as she had many times before, "it was awful." Her slender hand strayed to the stone on the ribbon about her throat, as it often did when she said something that was not entirely true.

She was beautiful, but not in ways most typical. Her skin was darkened by the sun, not at all the fashionably pale complexion preferred by proper English women in the Caribbean. She wore all the right dresses, the most popular styles in gowns, but she did not walk the way a lady should: her steps were too wide, too full of pride and a more wild grace than was "appropriate". There was nothing wrong in her behaviour that could be pointed out; there was just a general sense that she was not a proper lady.

Her dark hair was still short, but she was not blamed for that. There were countless stories about why the pirates had forced her to cut off her hair. Some said she had done it herself to appear less attractive, but if that were true, she had failed dismally. She was too striking, too full of unleashed beauty. Her eyes were as grey as the ocean on a cloudy day and full of humour, and she was never without a ready supply of quick wit and crude jokes on the tip of her tongue.

There were times though, when she would smile as sweetly as any maiden, play the roles that were expected. She would smooth her gown with fingers still callused but no longer ingrained with pitch and salt.

"And that... that Jack Sparrow, was he very cruel to you?" the woman went on.

Miriam frowned, as was expected of her. "Captain Sparrow," she said, gently inserting his title as she always did, "is a pirate, after all."

"Oh, yes, of course," came the response, "I'm so very sorry my dear... it must have been a horrible experience, for such a young, respectable lady as yourself."

_Young,_ Miriam thought, _hardly. And I'm even less respectable than that._ There was a pause, an uncomfortable silence before the older woman went on, completely changing the subject as many often did when they ran out of the proper sympathy, "That is a lovely stone you're wearing."

Miriam gave her most sickeningly sweet smile. "Yes, it's beautiful. A very dear friend sent it to me."

---

"Randal!" she called joyfully, a grin on her lips. She stopped just short of hugging the man, instead standing a proper distance from the grubby sailor who eyed her with a cheerful glint in his green eyes.

He was a good man, although he was dirty and smelled of the sea. She laughed when she thought what Norrington would do if he knew the rescued captive of pirates, she who had suffered from that horrible illness brought on by the see, was down by the docks, associating with a common sailor no less. He saw her as a noblewoman because she must be for pirates to bother kidnapping her. She did not object; it was better than being called what she was, a pirate, and hanged for it.

"Miss Sharp," he said with a crooked-toothed grin, "pleased t'see you."

"Indeed," she responded with a slight curtsey that was followed by a sly smile. "Might I ask a favour of you?"

"'Course. I'm glad t'be of service t'ye."

"You're too kind," she said, reaching into the small bag she carried at her side. She pulled out a small envelope with a black seal. It clinked as if coins tapped together within it. "You mentioned that _Queen's Mercy_ is setting off for Tortuga tomorrow..."

"Aye," he agreed, eying her with a conspirator's air.

"Could you please make sure this envelope gets to The Faithful Bride there?" she asked, and then added, "It's very important."

He arched a brow suspiciously, "Tortuga? The Faithful Bride? That's not the nicest place, miss."

She smiled sadly, shrugging her shoulders as if to say, 'What am I to do?' She nodded, "I know, I know... but the owner may know the whereabouts of my cousin, so it's very important that he get this letter."

Randal smiled. "Aye, in that case, I'll be sure it gets there."

Miriam found it difficult not to grin triumphantly, but she managed. Instead, she reached again into her purse, and withdrew a few shillings. She pressed them, along with the envelope into his hand. "A few shillings for your trouble, and I thank you."

---

"Cap'n Sparra'," the portly owner of the Faithful Bride said, approaching the table where the eccentric captain was sitting with a mug of ale. He lifted his head, looked at the man, a slight frown on his lips.

"Aye?" he acknowledged with a question on the edge of his voice, his kohl-lined eyes darker than usual, though it may have just been the poor lighting of the tavern. His tone was vaguely suspicious, his eyes narrowed.

"Got a letter for ye."

"Ah, thank you," Jack said, suddenly brightening. He held out his hand to receive the somewhat tattered envelope, which read in a simple script, "Captain Jack Sparrow." Turning the envelope over, he peered at the torn black seal which had once held it closed. He looked up at the barkeep, who shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Was deliv'ed that way, Cap'n," he said.

Jack smiled at the barkeep, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He withdrew a few shillings, pressed them into the owner's hand. "For your trouble," he said, and then turned away, waiting to be left alone. He then pulled the folded sheets of parchment out of the envelope and read.

_September 15, 1675_

_Captain:_

_First, my thanks, and you know what for. I trust you then agree that Morgan is indeed mine. She's adjusted well to life in Port Royal, and seems content. She brings me some joy in a life that is otherwise dull and filled with the frivolousness of what they call "polite society". I will not bore you with the details of what I can only call my very futile existence._

_Second, I do still have your hat. I will, as agreed, restore it to you when my property that is aboard the _Black Pearl_ is returned to me. I assure you that I am in no rush, and so my effects may be brought to Port Royal at your convenience. In fact, I would warn you to wait, as it may arouse suspicion if my old belongings were to suddenly appear. _

_Will and Elizabeth are doing quite well. They have been very kind hosts and I have been enjoying my stay with them as much as is possible. Elizabeth is a very bright woman and I admire her to a certain extent. Will is so very much like his father, his heart full of his wife and his veins full of the sea._

_The child should be born sometime in December or January, or so the doctor says. Despite a near miscarriage due to illness earlier this month, it is growing well. I am told that I am very lucky, and that it was a very near miss. Everyone, it seems, is constantly telling me how lucky I am, that I shall be so happy to have a child, what an excellent mother I will make. They tell me they are sure I will find a father for the child, as if I could pick one up at the market square, as if they have forgotten the circumstances under which everyone knows it was conceived, as if suddenly they no longer believe it to be your get, but a fatherless child whose parents can simply be assigned. If only life were so simple._

_I'm so very tired. This parasite in my gut is sucking my energy from me, but that is not all. I am so tired of this acting, of all the parts I must play on this island. I am not a proper English lady, I'm a pirate. I am slowly approaching the point where I'd rather hang than face another day of this ridiculous charade. You need not worry; Englishmen won't give the noose to a woman with an unborn child in her belly. Men of conscience, indeed, although I believe a proper gentleman would put me out of my misery. At least then my body might find its way back to the sea._

_Yes, you were quite right. My blood is filled with the rising tides, the reflection of the moon on the ocean's waves. I am a pirate and my veins will always be full of the sea. I imagine you are much the same way, only you have a ship beneath your boots while I have "good solid earth" beneath mine. I miss the ocean the way a one-armed man misses the limb he lost. I miss the uninterrupted horizon; I miss the ship that was my home, if only for a short while._

_I miss you, Jack. I knew that I would, but it seems so much worse to have it be true. I didn't think it would be possible to miss anyone else, besides Bootstrap, but you've proved me wrong and I almost hate you for it—almost. I don't think it would be so bad, if I had someone to talk to, but I don't have the heart to tell Will or Elizabeth the whole truth of where I've been, and I don't want to admit to anyone else that I miss you, as much as you sometimes infuriated me. Sometimes I wish I'd pretended to be asleep that morning, and not kicked you out of my bed. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't, all I can say is that it might have been nice to stay there a little while longer. It wasn't as bad as I made it out to be._

_I'm sorry, Jack. I can't tell you what for, the list would go on for pages and pages more than these, and so I'll leave this letter here. I wish you fair winds and good sailing, Captain Sparrow._

_Yours,_

_Miriam Sharp._

Her signature was blurred by the drop of a tear, and Jack shook his head sadly. What she had begun with a business-like tone she had finished much as he had expected: with pain, and a poorly-disguised cry for help.

It had been over two months since she had been with the _Pearl_, standing proud and tall with eyes as sharp and dangerous as steel. She had been cold to him that day, a woman with a heart of ice, she had looked to him with disdain and insults had been on the tip of her tongue. An act, though, he knew, and that was all. He remembered well the words she had written on a scrap of paper, the heat of her hand as she had pressed the crumpled parchment into his palm.

He had known then, somewhere in his heart that he preferred to pretend did not exist, that she would hurt. It was tragic to read of her pain, to see her words of hopelessness scrawled on expensive parchment and tucked into an envelope. It was inconvenient that he was not its only witness.

----

He still remembered her words, though without purpose, understanding them but thinking that somehow he had overlooked her meaning. _Ships are like women, and whether he'll admit it or not, every man wants one to call his own. And there's always, always that one girl, or that one ship, and the second her sees her, he knows: she's the one. And from that moment on, his heart is hers, and no many how many others he sails or sleeps with, they won't be enough._ He understood. He had been like that with the _Pearl_, he had needed her before he'd had her, and when he'd got her he'd needed nothing more. He knew what she'd meant, but the words still echoed, and he knew not why.

It was with those words still floating in his skull that he gave the order to set sail from Tortuga. They would make their way to Port Royal again, quick as the wind would take them, and the sweeps, if it came to that. Though such a matter was usually decided by a vote, the crew trusted their captain enough to believe he had good reason when he determined it was necessary to arrive in Port Royal with all haste, as he had once before.

---

There was a knock on her chamber's door, and she sighed, standing. She placed the weather-beaten tri-corn back on her desk, smoothing her skirts carefully. Her face arranged itself into the neutral mask she often wore, the gentle smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Come in," she called.

The door creaked open, as it if were hesitant. The maid stepped in, her skirts rustling about her feet.

---------

_September 23, 1675_

_Dear Miriam,_

_Someone read the letter you sent me; the seal was broken. I don't know who delivered it, so I can't deal with the situation myself. I leave it in your very capable hands. I hate to think what they'll believe you meant by certain parts... In any case, be careful. Leave future letters at The Rogue and Dog by the docks in Port Royal. That way you can deliver them yourself and I'll pick them up. Be sure to give the barkeep a few coins. I'll leave future letters with him as well, addressed to Raven. He's trustworthy enough, but don't make yourself easy to recognise... you should be good at that._

_To be honest, Morgan wasn't the only one to miss you. Take care of yourself._

_Jack._

---

He cared not much for the woman who had taken to hounding him. She sat next to him, wrapping her arms around him and whispering indecent proposals in his ear. Jack ignored her, sipping distractedly at his ale. The Rogue and Dog was an establishment of much the same sort as Tortuga's Faithful Bride. It had an ill-lit tavern on its main floor, and small dusty rooms above. He would be sleeping in one such room that night, but it was still too early to retire.

Instead he let his mind wander away from the prostitute who was vying for his attention, and gazed about the room. It was lit by flickering candles and filled with the raucous, drunken laughter that was so common in such places. Normally he would find a group of pirates to trade stories with, and then a pretty girl to spend the night with, but on this evening, he was not interested in any of it. He merely wanted a good excuse to shoo his would-be seductress on to her next customer, and another mug of ale.

When the barmaid came, she did not pass him another tankard. Instead, she gave him a small piece of paper, and said only, "From the barkeep." Then she left him to look after her with a bored expression of mild confusion before he unfolded the parchment. He recognised the script from two previous letters, although this one was far more succinct. It read only this: "Thank you. MS."

"Excuse me," he said, standing and impolitely pushing the strumpet aside.

---

**Author's note:** ... Okay, it's been exactly how many months since my last update? Heh... heh... sorry. I've been crazy busy with school, I actually wrote this in late September and got too busy to post it or write anymore. I'm actually working on an original work at the moment, but as I struggle with blockage on it, I may perhaps write this to keep my writing talent flowing... grin Talent, as if, right? I swear I will try and update more regularly—maybe not every week or every day, but often enough that it doesn't seem like I'm dead. I really have been recently, just from sheer exhaustion, but I've been thinking about this fic a lot lately, and you know, I miss writing it, so here's to hoping I'm back for the long haul.


	31. 30: Outings

Title: Of the Sea  
Rating: PG-13  
Chapter Title: 30. Outings  
Summary: And consequences...  
Timeline: September 30, 1675  
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

* * *

Miriam stood nearby, dressed in a plain dress, a shawl covering her hair. The men did not bother her, for she did not dress like the strumpets of the Dock Quarter of Port Royal, and the swell of her stomach announced the child she would bear. The flickering lights of the street shone on her tanned skin, and she smiled faintly at him as he approached. She curtsied, and her face went for a moment in shadow. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked, eying her. "Surely a respectable lady such as yourself..."

"Hardly," she said dryly. "If you must know, I was delivering a letter." Jack couldn't help but smile down at her then. She was such a little thing, so tiny to be carrying her stomach before her. The dress she wore was a pale shade of blue, and her grey eyes shone brightly in the night. How _different_ she was now, how very delicate. Matthew had nearly disappeared from beneath her skin.

"I noticed."

There was a moment's pause. "Walk me home?" she suggested. "After all, this is hardly the place for a respectable lady such as I am." Her face lit with a grin, and he thought he saw just the briefest glimpse of the woman beneath the mask—for surely this elegant yet fragile creature was not the pirate who had called herself Matthew.

He nodded, and took her arm as a gentleman might. "You're livin' with the Turners, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, but... that's not home. Take me to where I can see the _Pearl_." His expression was thoughtful, and she thought for a moment that he might deny her. She did not wonder at why he was so easy to read when usually any thoughts he had were shielded by his flippant attitude.

"Alright," he consented. "After all, I can hardly say no to a lady."

* * *

The _Black Pearl _was docked three miles from Port Royal, hidden away in a small cove. But there was one place where she might be able to catch a glimpse—although he had no idea why he was obliging her. He led her through the docks, then past them, to Port Royal's edge. They cut an odd pair, the lady on the pirate's arm. Jack told stories as they walked, none of them true, gesturing wildly with his free hand while she watched him, eyes veiled beneath her lashes. She would smile faintly at his jokes, and laugh quietly when Matthew would have roared with appreciation. 

After a time, they came to the place where the ocean met the land. They walked along the coastline, and here Miriam seemed more herself than in the city. She grinned and laughed honestly, although her spirit was still tamer than it might have been. The shawl was loosely about her shoulders now, her short hair revealed.

Jack stopped suddenly, bending as he took off his boots. Taking the hint from him, Miriam sat down on the sand to do the same; she still wore her sea-boots, even with gowns. He grinned when he saw them in the sand.

"How'd I guess?" he said, helping her get to her feet.

"Jus' that smart, I suppose."

They waded out into the shallow water, Miriam gathering her skirts in her hands to keep them from the waves. The ocean was cold, but not unbearably so. Glancing upwards, she saw the moon was full in the sky, the stars bright. Jack brought her attention to a different light, near the dark outline of a rocky cliff that descended into deeper waters.

That light flickered uncertainly, unfathomably distant, rocking in time with the waves. Beneath it was a shadow darker than the others, and she recognized the ship's outline. They stood in silence for minutes that stretched like hours, knee-deep in the ocean and watching the _Pearl_'s single lamp shine.

"It's beautiful."

"I know," Jack said, and he almost put an arm around her shoulders. He stopped himself, wondering where the idea had come from. The pirate had been caught by strange moods the entire night, though he had made his best attempt to act himself. "It's freedom."

Miriam nodded in agreement, turning to return to the shore. She stopped suddenly. "Jack," she whispered.

"Hm?"

She eyed the shore suspiciously, trying to see through the veil of darkness that made shapes difficult to perceive. "There's someone there."

"Well then," Jack said, loudly enough to be heard by their spectator, "let us return to the shore and meet them."

The shadow lit a lantern as they approached, and it became obvious then that it was a man. Miriam cursed as she recognised him. Jack eyed her curiously, but said nothing. As they reached the dry sand, Miriam dropped her skirts from where they were hiked indecently about her thighs. She curtsied politely.

"Randal," she said, her voice warm and honeyed. "It's nice to see you."

Jack looked that the man she addressed. He was younger, probably in his early twenties, tall with short, dirty brown hair and severe green eyes. The pirate bowed mockingly to the sailor.

The young man looked at them quietly for a time. He spoke at last, saying "I'd hoped I was wrong about ye."

She shrugged. Jack felt out of place, unsure of who the sailor was, his relationship to Miriam, or how he himself fit into their discussion.

"Yes, well, no one's been right about me yet." Her voice was calm and smooth, almost lilting as if cheerful.

Randal's eyes turned to her companion. The pirate wasn't exceptionally tall, and his loose posture made him seem even less so. His hair, tangled and dark, was filled with beads and other small baubles, tied black with a long strip of red cloth. He wore a dirty shirt and breeches, a sash striped red and white looped around his waist with a belt over it. A pistol was tucked into it, and a cutlass hung at his side. His smile was amused and gave a glint of good teeth.

"Jack Sparrow," the sailor said.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," the pirate corrected with a grin.

The second man shrugged, looking at Miriam. With no warning, he slapped her. She reeled with the force of his blow, her cheek stinging. "_Whore_," he hissed, "sleepin' with the likes of 'im." Jack needed no further incentive, and he fell upon Randal in an instant, cutlass drawn.

Miriam struggled to her feet—she had not realised that she had fallen. It took a terribly long time to stand, with the sand shifting beneath her feet. There was a strange taste in her mouth, the coppery flavour of blood. "Jack—no," she said, "he doesn't understand." He had his blade as the man's throat, and she sighed. "Don't hurt him."

"Why shouldn't I?"

Why was he being so protective of her? It hardly made sense. She frowned at them both. "Because—you're acting like an overprotective lover," she said bluntly. "Besides, I've survived being stabbed, shot and—" she was about to say something else, but she substitutes what she might have said with, "and worse. I can handle being called a whore."

Jack lowered his cutlass, backing away. Miriam approached Randal, squaring her shoulders proudly. Her back straightened despite the additional weight she had carried these past months. "Yes," she told him, her voice bitter but strong, "I am a whore, and a pirate too. I used to work the Faithful Bride, an' I was the most expensive slut there; men paid for me with their hearts, not just their coin." She smiled acidly. "You think this babe is his?" she asked, indicating her stomach and then her captain. "I wish it was, at least then I'd know who the father was. At least I could say that I _chose_ the father." She spat blood onto the sand.

"As it is, I live with my lot in life: to have a pirate's blood in my veins and an unwanted parasite in my gut." Her eyes were cold, and Jack recognised her for once as Miriam and not the strange lady he'd walked with earlier.

She turned away then. Bending over uncomfortably, she collected her boots and her shawl. As an afterthought, she looked back at Randal, adding, "Oh, and if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you." It was a simple statement of fact. "Jack, will you walk with me to the Turner residence? I expect they'll be worried about me by now."

Jack looked at the young man, who stood as if in shock. He gave the lad a gold-toothed grin. "She won't, not if I kill you first," he said cheerfully as he collected his own boots, and then walked quickly to catch up with Miriam, who was already walking away.

* * *

"_Where have you been?_" Elizabeth demanded, ushering Miriam inside. Jack hung back from the door, standing in the shadows. "Jack, you've some explaining to do. Get in here." Having been found out, he entered the house behind them, turning to pull the door shut. 

"Liz, is she home?" Will's voice asked from upstairs. He appeared a moment later, nodding a greeting to Jack as he brushed past him. "Is she alright?"

In the next room, Miriam lounged comfortably on one of the couches, her shawl and boots discarded on the floor. She liked Elizabeth, but she didn't feel like being fussed over. "Well?" the younger woman asked. "Where were you?"

Miriam waved a hand in her captain's general direction. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe. He wore an expression of disinterest, though truthfully he watched her. "Ask him," she said.

Will sat next to his wife. He looked up at Jack with questioning eyes. With a sigh, as if frustrated that he wouldn't be leaving soon, the pirate crossed the room to settle on a chair near the couch on which Miriam lay. "She was in the Dock Quarter, delivering a letter to me—only, I was there, so I got it a bit sooner than she'd expected."

"It doesn't take four hours to deliver a letter," Elizabeth said bluntly, and her words demanded an explanation. Her ward was studiously examining the sand beneath her nails, paying little attention to anyone else in the room. She did not seem interested in the fact that she was being lectures by a woman several years younger than she was.

So Jack answered for her. "She wanted t'see the _Pearl_—so I took her to spot where she could, from a distance, mind."

"That _still_ shouldn't take four hours, should it?" Will asked, honestly curious. There were no unspoken accusations in his words, but Jack was on edge.

"I wasn't bedding her, if that's what you think," he said, bristling and defensive. Elizabeth and her husband both looked up at him, shock in their eyes at that outburst. Jack looked at them, saw their confusion. Miriam was still ignoring her surroundings. "Sorry, I'm a little—tired."

Will smiled and stood. "I'll get you some rum. You sound like you need it."

After he left, Elizabeth smiled at the pirate. "So, now that we've established what—or rather, who—she wasn't doing, what _did_ take four hours?"

Jack shrugged. "We were talkin' for must of the time, out in the yard behind the house, actually."

"So you mean to tell me that we've been worried out of our heads, but she was actually here for much of the time she had disappeared," the young woman asked. He nodded, and smiled as Will passed him a glass of rum before returning to the seat next to his wife.

Their conversation was interrupted by a pained noise coming from the couch. The woman who laid there curled up on herself, gritting her teeth. "It's—happening—again," she managed to croak.

"Will, go get the doctor," his wife said. "This wouldn't be happening if she had stayed _home_." Jack was staring at her in confusion, Will was already out the door, and Miriam laid there, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"She's been having early contractions—she's supposed to be in bed." She paused, as if considering this. "And now Will's gone, and I can't get her upstairs!"

The pirate put his rum down. Standing, he took Miriam up with his arm. "That's what I'm here for, Lizzie," he said.

"Jack," the woman in his arms moaned, "put me down... this instant." She was too weak to extract herself from his grip, and instead slumped against his chest. Her body shook his arms, and occasionally she cringed as if a blow was being struck.

* * *

"Before you go in, Doctor," Elizabeth said, standing before the door to Miriam's chambers. "I should remind you of your Oath." 

The old man looked at her quizzically, tugging his beard. "And why is that, Mrs. Turner?"

"_All that may come to my knowledge in the exercise of my profession or in daily commerce with men, which ought not to be spread abroad, I will keep secret and will never reveal._ You swear that?"

"I do."

She opened the door. Miriam lay in the bed, pale and sweating. Her body shook, one hand placed protectively over her swollen stomach. Beside her was a sight most doctors would not have expected—a man sat on the bed, her other hand clutched tightly in his. His face was pale beneath his tan, his eyes nervous. This was not unusual, but the identity of her guardian was. The doctor recognised him; it was Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Pleasure to see you again, Captain," Dr. Gregory Haddon said to the pirate, who looked up and nodded a greeting before returning to watch Miriam's face.

Elizabeth frowned. "You two know each other?"

Dr. Haddon nodded. "Yes... he boarded a ship I was on, and a young man—woman—was injured. I looked at her shoulder. I also told her captain that she was pregnant." He smiled kindly at Jack, who did not appear to notice.

The doctor went through his medical bag, pulling out a small glass bottle filled with liquid. He poured this into a cup resting on the nearby table, then mixed several powders from different containers in his bag into it. Leaning over her, he put the glass to her lips, and poured it down her throat. She coughed, but swallowed the solution, which to Jack smelled foul even from where he sat.

Taking the glass away from the girl, the doctor settled down in his chair, and looked at the small woman. She still shook uncontrollably, her body wracked by violent spasms every few moments. It would take some time for the drug to take full effect.

"What now?" Jack asked, still clutching her hand safely in his. His dark eyes were concerned, frightened. He did not bother to conceal his worry beneath a mask of idle pacing. Elizabeth watched him from the door—she felt some pity for the _Black Pearl's_ captain, although she had to admit, she was almost, _almost _amused—for his behaviour proved that despite any claims to the opposite, he cared about something, someone other than his ship.

The doctor smiled sadly at him. "We wait."

* * *

**Author's note: **Another update—I haven't much to say, I'm very tired. I really struggled with this, but it seemed to pick up after Miriam's rant at Randal. I changed his name, by the way, because it suddenly occurred to me that I had to characters named Gregory. I'd completely forgotten about the good doctor, and I've now brought him back for a time at least. 


End file.
